


A Road of Fire and Dark

by KabukiWitch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Profanity, Psychological Torture, Torture, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:53:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 38,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28839690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KabukiWitch/pseuds/KabukiWitch
Summary: Sol is just an ordinary delivery girl, and has no part in the end of the world.Or does she?After one of her deliveries doesn’t go as planned, Sol finds herself thrown into the world of the supernatural, where everyone seems very keen on either capturing or killing her. Hunters, demons and angels, oh my!It seems the answer to the question of her identity lies with either the King of Hell, or two hunters who bicker about whether she should live or die. So hard staying out of trouble these days, isn’t it?And as if that wasn’t enough, Sol has to make a decision; side with heaven or hell? End the world, or save it?
Relationships: Castiel (Supernatural)/Original Female Character(s), Lucifer (Supernatural)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 24





	1. Yeah Yeah Yeah No

**Author's Note:**

> This Supernatural fanfiction is a long time cooking. It is not aligned to any one season or plot timeline. I simply plucked and picked the characters how I saw fit and put them in this story. Supernatural may have ended its run, but as a long time fan I hope to contribute to keeping its legacy alive. I hope you all enjoy the read, comments are very welcome. The name is still pending. English isn't my first language, so if any mistakes were made - I apologize. Send me a message and I will correct the mistakes.

This man is huge.

He’s like… A fridge. No, two fridges. Stacked one on top of the other, looming above her. But they’re old fridges, because this guy… Stinks. He reeks like a public restroom. His hand that’s held out in front of her face yellowed from the countless cigarettes he’s probably been smoking.

“Well?” he grumbles, showing orange teeth. “Give it here.”

She hands him a small envelope. Opening it with a huff, his beady dark eyes run along the scribbled contents of the letter. “Bugger,” he mutters. “Wait here.” The giant goes back inside the apartment, closing the filthy door behind him with a thud. She can hear yelling and shouting, and a lot of manly “I told you so”s.

Sol is used to this. In fact, it’s quite terrifying how used to this she is. No asking dumb questions (or clever ones). No prying into peoples’ business. No running away if things get too dangerous, but no throwing herself into danger unnecessarily. The payments are exact, no more or less than what has been agreed. But this… Waiting. Waiting outside doors while all kinds of dangerous people are concocting something evil or foolish. She hates it. One, because who likes waiting? And two, because it makes her face her memories. Years and years of this, waiting outside doors of foul buildings, waiting outside doors of bars in-the-middle-of-nowhere. Waiting. And she never has the answers. Actually, answer, to one specific question.

How did she get here?

She’s been a delivery girl for… Gosh. A long, long, longass time. It started off alright, normal. Delivering food. And then, food and something else. And then, after meeting Paul, it was  _ just _ something else. Never too sure what that something else is. It could be drugs, or money, or letters concealed in envelopes. It was smuggling weird old-timey artifacts out of houses or old abandoned buildings. It was bottles filled with strange liquids or grains. 

But, as Paul has been reluctant to admit, she’s the best. Yes, she’s the best at being a delivery girl. How does one become the best in being a delivery girl, you ask?

Well, Sol has this amazing ability to stay invisible. No, not invisible-invisible. Just… Unnoticed. She can slip in and out of any place without being detected. She can look like a waitress, or a young mother, or a high-school girl. It’s the “you’re ordinary enough to be invisible” look that some people have. And she’s not important enough for people to remember her.

When she just started out, they laughed. And  _ they _ are anyone. They’re business men, they’re rich assholes, they’re random homeless people, they’re family women and men, they’re nobodies or somebodies. Paul never gives her too many details. He likes her neutral. But the payment is good. In fact, it is good enough to allow Sol some kind of freedom. But you’re never completely free when working for criminals.

Paul is like her… Boss under the boss? She answers to Paul, but she’s working for whoever it is handling the Shadow Group right now. The Shadow Group are just a group of people, doing, well, shady business. 

Also and much more importantly, Paul is an asshole. It has a good ring to it. Paul is an asshole, an asshole is a Paul.

The giant opens the door swiftly, knocking Sol out of her own head. He’s holding a small shoe box with weird drawings in red all over it. “Tell Skin he can shove it,” the giant murmurs, pushing a small note into Sol’s hand. He looks her up and down, and for the faintest moment, Sol can swear his eyes… Change color? 

“Also, tell him that next time he sends a chick, to put her in a nicer outfit.” He grins orangley at her and slams the door in her face. Sol breaths in deep. Ha ha. Funny. She spins around and walks out into the street, leaving the old building behind.

This whole neighbourhood looks like it’s about to crumble into dust. What does Skin want here? Skin is the current Shadow Group boss. Current, because the Group’s bosses tend to mysteriously disappear or get murdered. Viciously murdered. And the longer she’s been subjected to the odd rotation of bosses, the weirder the customers became. It took her a while to notice the weird, because at first she was like: yeah, tattoos and earrings. They’re criminals, who cares?

But then, it was weirdly weird. People who reek of earth like they just stepped out of a grave, people whose eyes seem to be the wrong color, people who look at her like she’s a steak and so on. It gets weirder and weirder. It’s always a flicker. She thinks she sees something, something out of place. Like a puzzle that’s solving itself right before her eyes. But the moment she takes notice, it’s gone. And she’s learned not to say anything. People get annoyed, and then Paul gets annoyed. Her paycheck has suffered enough.

When she told Skin about the “weirdly weird” he smiled but said nothing except “just do your job.” And when she told Paul he said “do I look like I care” and so she stopped asking the questions out loud. But she remained restless. Now, she practically ignores them; the weird looking teeth, the weird looking eyes, and the weird looking people altogether.

Sol gets her burner phone out and sends a message. The streets are cold, and she doesn’t want to wait long. Finally, a brown, beat up car arrives. She peeks into the driver’s seat. Shit.

“Hello, Paul,” Sol says through gritted teeth as she enters the car. He’s a pale guy, no more than 40-ish, brandishing wavy black hair and grey eyes. And his face is an everlasting picture of haughtiness. Paul doesn’t return the hello. Arrogant bastard.

“How was it? Got the thing?” he asks, pressing his foot on the gas and sending the car into flight. Sol’s head bumps into the roof of the car.

“Magical. What’s in the box?”

“You know that’s none of your business, Sol. Stick your nose where it belongs.”

“You mean, nowhere. Because my nose apparently never gets answers.”

“Weren’t you told not to ask questions?”

“When’s the last time I asked you anything, dipshit?”

That shuts him up real good. Paul scoffs, clasping his lips. Perhaps afraid he’ll say something he regrets. Or not, because he follows the blessed silence with: “Skin’s dead.”

Sol opens her mouth, but no sound comes out. Now it’s her turn to shut up. Ridiculous. Not again.

“When and how.”

“Dunno when exactly,” Paul veers to the left in high speed, throwing Sol into the window as the car swerves. “But they say they found him in his home, looking like a pack of wolves did a number on him.”

“You’re kidding.” Sol leans forward in her seat catching Paul’s eyes in the rear view mirror. “Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah yeah yeah, I know.” Paul returns the glance. “Timor died the same way.”

“And Cabana.”

“And Fay too.”

“Where do all of them get their fucking names?”

They share a rare laugh. “But this time is different, pussycat.” His voice is stern. “Shit’s hitting the fan. Some of the guys are uneasy, and well… I wouldn’t mind being invisible like you right now.”

“I’m not  _ that _ invisible, dipshit. I’m just doing what I’m told.”

“Exactly. That’s exactly why you’re invisible. Anyhow, I’m not dropping you off at your place tonight.”

Sol almost chokes. “Excuse me?”

“New guy has a delivery for you.”

“New guy already, huh. It’s a test then,” Sol says slowly. “Isn’t it.”

“Seems so.” Paul nods. “And I wouldn’t piss him off, if I were you. He’s different.”

“Different how?”

“Didn’t I tell you to shove your nose someplace else?”

“He’s my boss,” Sol hisses. “I’m entitled to-”

“No, pussycat,” Paul purrs. “The only thing you’re entitled to, is doing your job, which right now is taking this bag,” he says as he point to the trunk, “to The Drunk Squirrel’s place.”

“The what now.”

“It’s a bar. We deliver there all the time.” Paul stops the car. They’re in the middle of nowhere. “It’s just up this road.” He points into a field, which looks like a sea of black, in this darkness. Sol shoots him a dumbfounded stare. “You’ve got a car. Take me up there.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t.”

“Or won’t.”

“Get the fuck out of the car, Sol.” He sounds serious. “Can’t go there. You’re on your own right now. Scram.”

“You’re an asshole.” Sol gets out of the car and goes to the trunk. There’s a huge brown duffle bag, looks kind of worn out. She needs to know what’s in the bag. It’s time she was let in the big boys club. But she shouldn’t ask questions, after all that’s what’s being a professional all about. 

“What’s in the bag?” Shit.

Paul breathes, and for a moment Sol waits for the “shove your nose” lecture. But it doesn’t come. “Why don’t you just find out for yourself kitty.” And with that the car roars into life and shoots into the road, the trunk door slamming shut as it flies away.

Sol looks around. The road is empty, and so are the surroundings. Just fields, the sky and the road. A gravel path snakes into one of the fields, and at the end of it there’s a light. Sol reaches into her pocket and gets a small flashlight out. The bag looks scarier in the darkness. She’s never been allowed to look at the contents of her deliveries, and has never tried. Paul told her that they’ll know. They always know, and advised her not to test it out. So she didn’t. So why now?

Sol throws the bag to the ground, crouching above it. It makes a squishy sound. She opens the ziplock and points the flashlight at the contents of the bag. A small yelp escapes her lips. The bag is full of blood bags. All types of blood, and some she hasn’t heard of. “What the fuck,” she whispers. Why would a bar need this?

No, no. No more questions. Her head begins to throb. She closes the bag up and lifts it on her shoulder. Even though the night is freezing, the walk in the field keeps her warm. She tries not to think about the blood bags, but it’s proven impossible. Either Paul thought it would be funny to fuck with her, or something is really going on. And if Skin is dead, it means someone new is in charge. Who are they?

In the distance the bar begins to loom into view. It’s a classic cowboy bar in the middle of nowhere, which means they do not want visitors. Outside there’s not one vehicle in view, but the neon sign claiming “The Drunk Squirrel” indicates the place is open. Light shines through the windows, and as she rears closer Sol can hear voices of laughter and yelling. The door of the bar is closed, though. And when she tries opening it, it’s locked.

It’s just a job. Drop the bag and get the fuck out. She slams her fist on the door once, twice, and the bar goes silent. Oh, great. This is gonna be just great.

The doorknob wriggles and the door opens. A handsome young man appears. He has curly brown hair and dark brown eyes. He’s wearing simple jeans and t-shirt, but has cool cowboy boots. When he sees the bag, he smiles. “You Crowley’s kid?”

“Cro-” The new boss. “Y- yes. Yeah. Here’s your thing.” She hands him the bag. “I’m not a kid, by the way.”

“What are you, eighteen?”

“I’m twenty seven.”

“Huh,” he eyes her with a grin. “Could have fooled me.” He cranes his neck closer, and sniffs the air. “Love your perfume.”

“Thank you.” She forces herself to smile. She isn’t wearing any perfume.

Someone behind the man shouts “Yo Mike! Is it the snacks?!”

“Yeah! A second!” Mike shouts back. He returns to look at Sol. “I was told not to ask… But you know. I gotta. Why are you working… with. Ya know. Crowley, and his likes.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh man… You don’t know anything do you.” He smiles wider, and for a moment Sol can swear there’s something wrong with his teeth. They look… Sharp. But the moment slips away.

“Why don’t you come in?” Mike says slowly.

Alarm bells go inside Sol’s head. She should  _ not _ go in there. Don’t shove your nose where it doesn’t belong. “I have other deliveries tonight, but enjoy whatever it is you do.” She turns to leave, but a hand stops her, holding her wrist tightly. Mike’s smile isn’t a nice one anymore.

“C’mon. Stay, a few minutes.”

“I really shouldn’t.” She wishes she could reach for her phone without making sudden movements. This is so, so, so not good.

“Oh, I wasn’t really asking.” And with that, Mike pulls her inside the bar, closing the door behind her.

The bar is pretty nice, warm dark wood tones and good music. There are at least thirty people here, all different ages and types. And they’re all looking at her, all smiling creepily.

“Who’s that?” A young blond woman behind the bar asks.

“That’s the delivery girl… Um…”

“Sol,” Sol says quickly. No harm done with knowing her name.

“Dude, weren’t you told not to fuck with the delivery-girl? Wait, wait-wait. She’s with Crowley?” the woman’s eyebrows shoot up and her nostrils flare. “She’s human.”

“Shh… She has no idea!” Mike laughs, joined by the entire bar population. Sol hates being the bottom of a joke she doesn’t understand. “How long have you been working with Crowley, then?” Mike leads her toward the bar, hanging the bag to the blond woman.

“I- I’ve been working with other people up until now. I- Well-”

“So you don’t know him.”

Shit. Well cat’s out of the bag anyway. “No, I don’t,” she admits. “But I’ve been working with the Shadow Group for a long time.”

“So that’s what the humans call it. Cool.” Mike sits on one of the swiveling bar chairs, waving Sol to sit next to him. “Bet you’ve seen a lot of crazy shit, if you’ve been working with Crowley’s associates all this time.”

“Huh?” What does he mean? “Well, I’ve met interesting people.”

“Stop it Mike,” the blond behind the bar laughs. “She doesn’t know anything. Maybe that’s the way Crowley likes his humans. Ignorant as usual.”

“Well, this has been really nice.” Sol gets up from her seat. “But I’m gonna go.”

Mike is so fast Sol has no time to react. One moment he is sitting beside her, and another he’s right in front of her, one hand on her throat, and the other one holding her shoulder and pinning her backwards. The people in the bar are silent again. They’re waiting to see where this is going.

“Mike-” the blond calls in warning.

“No, Theresa. I’m tired of the bags. I want the real thing. Doesn’t matter if she’s one of Crowley’s or not. He’ll get more.” Mike opens his mouth, and Sol tries not to scream as large sharp teeth begin to peek over his regular ones. Soon it’s as if she’s looking into the mouth of a shark. 

Fight or flight kicks in. She’s used to run, and she’s used to fight. But not like this. This isn’t the streets, and these things… Aren’t normal. 

So she does the only thing she can and throws her knee into his groin. Mike squeals in surprise and releases his grip. Sol makes it three steps before two pairs of hands grip her in place. These people… They’re all bearing the same terrifying teeth. Well, this is great.

“I thought I told you not to shove your nose where it doesn’t belong,” a voice interjects loudly. Everyone whips their head to look behind the bar, where the young blond is shivering, a long knife at her throat.

Sol feels like she might throw up. “Paul?” When did he come in?

Paul smiles, pressing the knife closer to the woman’s skin. “You had such a nice streak of being invisible, pussycat.”

“Yeah, not my fault, dipshit. It’s sharknado’s fault over there.”

Paul eyes Mike, who still tries balancing himself and is grunting angrily. “You do know Crowley doesn’t like people messing with his subjects,” Paul says patiently, directing his words to no one in particular.

“Well I didn’t know Crowley holds his humans so precious to his heart,” Mike hisses. “Can’t he get another one?”

“Not like this one.”

“Since when is Crowley managing deliveries?” Mike asks, raising his brows.

“Since a job well done is one you do yourself.” Paul releases the blond. “Give me the girl. We need her.”

“Working this closely with humans... Didn’t know demons can stoop that low.” Mike growls.

“And I didn’t know vampires have such soft dicks, but there you go. Every day you learn something new.” Paul jumps from behind the counter, and the men holding Sol tighten their grip on her. Paul shoots them a dangerous look. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Wouldn’t want your next delivery to contain dead man’s blood.”

The words seem to have an effect, because Sol is released. She trips forward, finally able to take out her pocket knife, veering to point it at Mike. The bar erupts into laughter. “Look out!” one woman squeals in between laughing bursts. “She’s got a knife!”

“You’re embarrassing me, kitty,” Paul whispers in her ear. “Put the claws away.”

Reluctantly, Sol puts the knife back in her jeans pocket. “Is your car outside?” She asks Paul quietly.

“Not exactly,” he answers with a crooked smile. “Give me your hand.” No questions, just do your job. She gives Paul her hand, and as he takes it the world seems to disintegrate. They’re engulfed with black smoke, everything spins out of existence, and before Sol can think of any relevant questions, she blacks out.


	2. Should Have Told You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sol and Paul have a long talk as Sol tries to wrap her head around everything. Then, they go to hell to meet Crowley, where things seem not to go according to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the read :) Enjoy!

Normal headaches are no fun. Migraines are horrid, but survivable. But when Sol wakes up she learns to appreciate people who use the term “a headspilitting headache”. Because her head feels like it’s splitting open while it’s on fire inside a volcano. She takes a breath, but it’s so painful that no air actually makes it past her lips.

“Stop being so dramatic,” Paul’s voice jeers at her. “And get up. We’ve got stuff to do.”

“Shut up Paul,” she barely grits through her teeth. Sol opens her eyes. It’s hard to focus when everything around you seems oddly out of place. They’re sitting in a cafe, it’s daylight. On the table in front of them are two cups of boiling coffee. The cafe is buzzing. People talking to each other or on cell phones, waiters carrying food around and taking orders. Sol shake her head and manages to take a deep breath. “Where the hell are we?”

“Italy.” Paul adds two sugar cubes to his coffee.

“What now. Why?” Sol whips her head around, her brain feels like it’s about to explode. As the blur melts away from her vision, she can finally make out her surroundings more clearly. Italy, indeed. What the hell.

“Relax,” Paul says calmly, rewarding her with a rare pat on the shoulder. “The coffee’s really good. Drink up and unclench your pretty little ass.”

Sol want to kick him, but lets it slide, only because she’s still trying to not vomit into her cup. She takes a sip. Yeah, that’s good coffee alright. She eyes Paul silently. He’s not looking at her but seems mighty satisfied with himself.

“Stop staring.”

“Oh, I’m sorry Mr. Demon, apparently.”

“Can’t you wait until I finish my coffee?”

Sol gets up from her chair.

“Fine, fine! No more drama...” Paul crosses his arms across his chest. “Yeah, I’m a demon. What of it.”

“How about,” Sol says slowly, “we go back to that part where, you’re a demon. Yeah, that would be a good place to start.”

“C'mon kitty. You couldn’t have been  _ this _ blind till now.” Sol wants to get angry at this statement, but she can’t because a) her head is still throbbing, and b) he’s right. Well, he’s not  _ that _ right. Things have been weird. But this is… Downright insane.

“So, you’re a demon.”

“You’re really slow, huh?” Paul laughs.

“And the guys at the bar… They were…”

“Vampires.”

“Cool.” Sol nearly inhales the rest of her mysteriously good coffee. “Awesome. Demons and vampires. How about fairies?”

“What about them.” “They’re real too? You’re shitting me.” “No, I’m not.” “How about werewolves?” Paul rolls his eyes impatiently. “Let’s just presume that any question you utter has the same answer, alright?”

“I don’t get it.” Sol squints. “Your name is Paul.”

“So what?”

“You’re a demon named Paul? That doesn’t make sense.” 

Paul bursts out laughing. “ _ That’s _ what’s bothering you? The real name is Puloman, but nowadays it doesn’t ring right.”

Sol returns the laugh. “Puloman? What kind of name is that?”

Paul smiles, and for a moment his eyes flicker black. “In some cultures,” he murmurs, “a terrifying one.” 

For a few seconds they say nothing while Paul continues to sip his coffee. Sol still tries to decide what’s bothering her more; the fact that Paul’s real name sounds too hindu for his skin color, or that apparently mythical and supernatural beings are real. His question pesters her though. Was she indeed this blind? She has noticed the weirdly weird since she was a teen working for the Shadow Group. But it was chalked to my-mind-playing-tricks and none-of-my-business. So. Apparently the brain cannot be trusted, ever. Just the gut feelings. Even though they’re the same thing, tickling in different places. Paul looks so… Normal.

“Sol.” Paul’s snaps. “Relax. Not your fault.”

“What do you mean?”

“The fact that you couldn’t really comprehend anything that you so. Not your fault. You always see it out of the corner of your eye, don’t you.”

Sol’s eyebrows shoot up. “How do you know that?” She asks slowly.

“Well you didn’t think I picked you cause you were cute.”

“You knew this whole time I saw the weird things?”

“Not weird, real.” Paul leans closer, and suddenly the scent of sulfur fills the air. “I could see your eyes noticing but your brain pushing it away. But you can see through the meat-suits.” He leans back in his chair. “Humans aren’t supposed to be able to do that.”

“That’s why you said I’m precious? In the bar?”

“No, and I didn’t mean the cute thing either.” “So why?”

He scoffs. “It’s a little complicated to explain.”

“Oh, I’m willing to try Paul.” Paul’s eyes flicker black again, and for a moment Sol’s fight-or-flight instincts kick in. But just like in the bar, no fear washes over her. Why isn’t she scared? Oh god something must be wrong with her. But Paul leans back in his chair, letting go of his coffee, his face relaxed again. “Well, the same way you can penetrate through our disguises and yet brush them aside as you please… You seem to be able to push away some of our powers.”

Sol tries to keep a stern face. “Powers.”

Paul’s lips curl in anticipation. “Well we’re in Italy now, and we didn’t take a plane, did we.” “So you can fly?”

“Not exactly-”

“Can you shoot lasers out of your eyes?” Paul rolls his eyes, yet his lips are still fighting back a small smile. He knows her too well. “Demons have many powers. Just like vampires, werewolves, writhes and-” As he continues naming creatures that she’s never heard of, she begins to realize she doesn’t really know him at all. Sol tugs at her memory, recalling names of associates, friends, enemies… Anyone she’s ever worked with or under. Were some of them demons? Or other creatures? Does she really know anything at all?

“Do all supernatural beings have powers?” she asks.

“Yes. Each their own powers and characteristics, strengths and weaknesses. Just like some humans are talented and some aren’t.” 

“But I am not.”

“You definitely aren’t.”

“I mean a demon, prick face.” Sol turns her face away, trying to cover the confusion boiling inside her. “I’m not a demon, or a vampire, or nothing. I’m just me, and I don’t have powers or anything special. So why me? What you said in the bar. You said ‘not like her’. What did you mean?”

Paul takes a self-orienting breath. “The Shadow Group, as you know it, is technically a black-market business. From the outside, that’s what it should look like. Low level criminals, petty drug deals, some human trafficking…” Sol inhales sharply as he continues without blinking, “the usual human stuff. But underneath, it does business for hell.” 

Sol opens her mouth to interject, but realizes she has no idea what to say. “We supply and deal with different materials, artifacts, or simply fulfill requests that can’t be bought with the regular sell-your-soul type of deal. And you, pussycat, have been one of my greatest discoveries.” He clasps his hand together under his chin, smiling a crooked smile. “Demons don’t usually employ humans for any reason other than getting to more souls. Hell currency, so to speak,” Paul adds, answering an unasked question. “But you were- are. Perfect, in fact. Nobody really views you as a threat, because you’re a human, and you’re a woman. You have no family, no friends outside the Shadow Group… You’re almost non-existent.”

“Come on. I’m not  _ that _ invisible!”

“Oh yes you are. And that’s perfect for business. And most of the time none of our Customers felt compelled to attack you. You aren’t important enough.”

“And that’s the only reason?” Sol doesn’t buy it. “Come one. There are a lot of human girls out there. Plus, something changed. The vampires attacked.

“Yeah.”

“You don’t seem surprised.”

“Great observation skills kitty.”

He’s avoiding her questions, but she knows pressing him won’t get her what she wants. “That Crowley guy. New boss. You said this was a test. Was it a ‘will she get killed’ kind of test?”

“Well, yes and no. This… Was my test.”

Sol's anger begins bubbling in her belly. “And?”

“And there was something I wanted to try, before taking you to meet Crowley. He might have use for you, and in return-”

“Sounds less and less appealing by the moment.”

“In return, you will receive the one thing we’ve agreed you cannot have since you had joined the Shadow Group.” Sol stares at Paul intently, waiting for him to continue. “If you do this, you’re out. I’ll make sure of it. Out and well off, in fact.”

Sol feels like she can’t breathe. Out. Free. “You’re kidding,” she whispers. Paul says nothing, and so she knows he’s for real. 

No one steps away from the Shadow Group, and with all this new information it’s easy to guess that anyone stepping away does so straight into the grave. Perhaps that’s why all the other bosses disappeared? It’s a possibility. She was never planning on staying forever, but ended up staying for so long… Ten years is a long time to be a delivery girl for criminals. Freedom was never really an option, in her mind. It was very well known that no one leaves the Shadow Group and makes it out alive. Never. The promise of freedom is the promise of change. A change of direction, at least. She could find meaning for her life. Her own meaning.

“Deal.”

“Wait there, kitty. Not so fast. Besides, thought you love me too much to leave.”

Sol snorts and finishes her coffee as Paul gets up from his chair. “Before you ‘deal’ anything, I need to talk to Crowley.”

“Could’ve done that instead of sitting here.”

“I’m a nice demon, Sol.” Paul’s eyes flicker again. “We’re scarce. Crowley isn’t your regular demon. He’s king of hell now, and he hates humans.”

“Awesome. Sounds lovely. Did you say king of hell?” Sol gets up too, not giving a second thought to their unpaid drinks. “And wouldn’t all demons hate humans?”

Paul gives her a weird look. “Why would you say that?”

“Aren’t demons just… Corrupted humans?” Sol can’t interpret the confusion on Paul’s face. “You hate what you once were and can never be again, can’t you?”

“I-” Paul tries forming a sentence. For a moment Sol feels the air around her waver. As soon as it came, it went. “It doesn’t work like that,” Paul finally says. Sol is tired of not getting the answers she feels she deserves. But it won’t be wise to try and force it out of him. For now.

“I still don’t get why we need to see this Crowley guy.” Sol pries as Paul starts to lead them away from the cafe and into the street. “I’m gonna make a quick call before we descend into hell,” Paul says as he is motioning her to stop. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

Sol doesn’t want to descend into hell right now, maybe later when she’s dead or really really bored. But if she wants her freedom she’ll have to make some sacrifices. She looks at her watch. It’s hard to believe only a few hours have passed. A few moments ago, Paul was her pain in the ass boss with whom she has a hate-hate relationship. And now he’s a demon, talking on the cell phone. 

When looking around Sol spots her reflection in a nearby window pane. Not only is Paul different. Not only is the world different. She is too, and she’s not sure she likes it.

Before, she was tired-of-your-shit kind of girl with short wavy brown hair that never seems to settle, brown eyes that have an everlasting angry glint, fair skin that Paul likes to call “sickly” and a fashion style that she likes to call “sick”. But now even her (very cool and sick) outfit consisting of black jeans, a torn grey top and brown-reddish work boots can’t cheer her up. Her brown leather jacket does though. Ah, good ol’ jacket-I-stole-from-smelly-tattooed-biker-dude-that-one-time. 

But she still considers herself tired-of-your-shit kind of girl.

Her phone makes a faint “ping” in her back pocket. As she reaches for her phone, trying to figure out why she has service here, she feels her heart drop. On the screen the name “Sharknado”. Nah, no way. She opens the text.

_ Thought you wouldn’t mind having my number, now that we’re best buddies. I’ll see you around yet. _ HOW. Oh that’s great. Her invisible days seem to be numbered. When did that vampire, Mike? Have time to do this. And also, ew. Her phone pings again, another message from Mike.  _ By the way, don’t trust demons. Ever. They’re back stabbers. _

That’s actually good advice on Sharknado’s part. Are they less trust-worthy because of what they are? Are vampires trust-worthy? Sol stares into her own eyes. Wow, she looks really tired. More mentally than physically. Suddenly, there’s a movement in the reflection. It’s fast, faster than Sol’s attention to detail. She swears there was a peek of red somewhere in there, but the harder she squints the more nothing she sees. Oh god she’s going to turn into a psychotic paranoid forty-cat woman one of these days.

“Done prettying yourself up?” Paul is standing too close to comfort. How is he doing that? “Ready? Got the okay to bring you down.”

“Mind your phrasing.” Sol turns to look at him. Knowing he’s a demon doesn’t scare her. It actually calms her, because it explains all the assholery, and the dropping in unexpected, unannounced and unwelcomed. But she also realizes that what does actually scare her, are the creatures she doesn’t know or understand. 

All those “out of the corner of her eye” moments will now become fight-or-flight moments. And she’s now fifty percent sure you can’t kill a monster with a pocket knife, her only weapon.

“One thing kitten.” Paul puts a finger on her lips. “I’d seriously shut my yap hole, if I were you. You have this annoying habit or flapping your lips and uttering cheeky bullshit. And while I think it’s very adorable you think you’re a big girl, Crowley will not. He’ll find it insolent. And he’s got no time or patience for that.”

Sol has no clever come back, she’s too busy freaking out about going to hell. “Good girl. This time will be easier.” Paul puts his hand on her shoulder, and they’re engulfed with darkness. Sol feels a pull in her existence, as if the universe is taking her apart bit by bit. But there’s no pain this time, and she doesn’t black out. Instead, as soon as she’s solid again, she throws up. She hears Paul yelp, no doubt worrying about his shoes. “Disgusting,” he mutters.

“Your shoes aren’t that expensive.” Paul usually wears the same set of clothes; tailored pants, a white button-up shirt that always has three buttons open. Paul thinks it makes him look classy. Sol thinks it makes him look like a pirate. “Oh I bet you had some time to get used to this dipshit.” Sol spits on the ground.

“A few hundreds of years, yes, but I never threw up.”

“You’re old.” It was supposed to be a question. Perhaps it’s a soft spot because Paul just starts walking. How long has he been a demon? Was he born one, or was she right the first time, and he became one? And why hasn’t she noticed his inability to age? As Sol catches up to him, she gets a good look around. It’s just like another job; understand your surroundings, look for any escape routes, notice the little details if you can.

They’re in some sort of pentagon shaped lobby made of stone, a corridor extending out of each corner. The walls are decorated with golden torches and something that resembles human skulls. Nice touch, Sol thinks. “Do demons eat humans?” Sol whispers, hurrying her pace. Paul snorts.

“Not unless they’ve been really naughty.”

She doesn’t laugh. “So, this is hell?”

“It’s a very small part of hell. More like the area with all the offices. The bureaucratic part.”

“Why does it look so…” Sol tries to look for the right word. “Cliche?”

“Hmm…” Paul tries to think of an answer. “Haven’t given it much thought. But it lives up to the rep, doesn’t it?”

Yeah, it does. They reach the end of the corridor and enter a large room, which contains a large, dark wooden table with thirteen comfortable looking chairs. There are a few men in the room, all wearing black tailored suits and brandishing groomed hairdos and beards. Sol can’t hold it.

“Did you miss hell-fashion crash course?” she whispers.

“Shut up,” Paul hisses back, unable to hide the amusement in his voice. As soon as they approach the room, all eyes shoot to Sol, as if there’s a big neon sign above her head saying “HUMAN”. Their gaze is demeaning, as if they’re looking at a clump of dust, or a bug they’d like to squish.

“Well well,” a dark man with long hair says gleefully. “Puloman… I’m surprised. You’re with a human.”

“So observant of you,” Sol spits immediately, ignoring Paul’s advice. All of the men blink simultaneously, their eyes fill with black. The scent of sulfur intensifies around them.

“Get your pet under control, Puloman,” says the dark man. “Does Crowley know that  _ this _ is here?”

Paul cranes his head to glare at Sol. She doesn’t recognize his expression. She’s known him for ten years. Never has she seen him scared. Suddenly, there’s a shift in the air, as if the particles of space are moving a different direction. And then there’s a small man in one of the chairs. He has five o'clock shade and a very smug expression. His suit is by far the most expensive in the room. He’s holding a glass of wine, and doesn’t seem like he wants to share.

“Sit down, fellas,” he says to no one in particular in a raspy voice and an unpolished british accent. So cliche. 

All of the demons, including Paul, sit at the table. Sol takes a wild guess that she isn’t invited, so she takes a few steps back and leans on the wall, hoping it swallows her. It’s waiting-time again, but this time there’s no door to protect her. She isn’t invisible anymore.

There’s a horrible silence in the room, like students waiting for the teacher to yell at them for no reason. The small man takes a sip from his wine, sloshing it in his mouth patiently. All eyes are on him, except the dark man, who seems quite fixated on Paul.

“Marid,” the small man sighs. “We’ll start with you. Report.”

“Well,” the dark man answers, refocusing his eyes on the speaker, “this month we’ve made around four thousand deals across America alone, mostly with younger men and women as you’ve asked.” Marid clicks his fingers and a small notebook appears in his hands. “All the contracts have been passed onto Paimon so he can tend the fine details. But all in all, it has been a good month.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” the small man leans back in his chair crossing his legs. “Erlik?”

A brown fat bearded dude jumps in his chair. “Good month in Asia too, about twelve hundred deals this month. Contracts are with Paimon.”

“Bukavac.”

“Excellent week indeed,” answers a tall, pale blond fellow in a deep voice. “Europe has been booming. Russia especially.”

“Very nice,” the small man purrs. “Americans,” he chuckles. “It’s just too easy…” He takes a long pause, finally turning to look at Paul. “Well, Pulamon. I’m listening.”

Paul swallows loudly. “Well, the Shadow Group has done as you asked. A small number of demons have been employed in order to make swift deliveries. Some have been killed, including Skin as of late. You must have heard.” The small man smiles at that remark, but allows Paul to continue. “We have also been employing a small number of humans, mostly celebrities; It indeed has been very helpful, soul-wise. And-”

“Yes yes I know all this,” the small man snaps. “Get to our  _ lovely  _ point.”

Paul stiffens up. “This human,” Paul points at her like she’s an expensive poodle at a dog show, “I’ve had her for the last ten years. She has some special abilities, which I thought would interest you. Her deliveries were completed with no obstructions. Other smaller jobs were impeccably done as well. It has been troublesome with the frequents.”

“Ah, yes. The Drunk Squirrel incident. So I’ve heard.” The small man pivots in his chair, looking at Sol, who’s suddenly feeling like someone is drilling a hole in her head. “A human walks into a vampire bar…” The small man chuckles softly at his own (unfunny) joke, gets up from his chair and walks over to stand in front of Sol. She can feel the temperature of the room rise, small trickles of sweat make their way down her spine. 

“So you don’t mind telling me, then.”

“Sire?” Paul’s expression changes. Sol actually knows this expression. Paul makes that expression whenever she asks a question that Paul doesn’t feel like answering.

“And here I thought you were just keeping a pet…” He says nothing, and Paul says nothing. Sol can practically feel the air tighten in the room. “Why this one,” the small man presses, “of all the pathetic little humans on this pathetic planet, why this one. Why bring her to me and waste my very limited time… On this. If her only ability, as you’ve stated, is doing what you say… Forgive me. Not impressed.”

Sol feels another wave of vomit tickling at her throat.  _ Push it down, this isn’t the time to show your soft belly. _ The fear she lacked the last few hours, perhaps the last few years, hit her with all its might. Her legs feel like jelly and a shiver is running back and forth through her spine like she’s a freaking amusement park.

The small man takes a step toward Paul. “Ah, you thought because the human has been working ever so… Impeccably, as you put it, I’ll just forget the facts of your deal. Didn’t you.”

What deal? The small man looks at Sol, then at Paul, then at Sol again. His smile widens. “Oh, and I haven’t failed to notice you let her keep her soul.” The man waves his hand, and Paul is hurled across the room, his back smashing against the wall. He’s pinned, his eyes running left and right with terror. “You’ve allowed this little, little-  _ pest _ !” the man murmurs, “to run around between our legs, while she gets to keep her soul. Bloody hell, we don’t give freebies!” He shouts.

“Sire-” Paul tries protesting. “She- you-”

“Tell me.” The small man is now standing so close to Sol she can smell the wine off his breath, but he’s still addressing Paul. “Why hide this from me. And don’t bore me with pleasantries. I’m done with the foreplay.”

“Crowley- she’s-” Paul is still trying to speak, but it’s as if there’s a solid wall of air pressing him into the wall, crushing his chest. Crowley waves his hand, and Paul slumps to the floor with a thump. He’s breathing heavily, his words separated with large gulps of air. “She- can- see- us-”

“See what?” Crowley barks, turning his head to look at Paul.

“She can see- our true faces- I’ve seen her do it.” Paul calms his breath. “And she’s immune to some of our powers.” He staggers to his feet, holding the wall for support.

“Huh.” Crowley returns his gaze to Sol’s face. “Now  _ that’s _ interesting.” Crowley waves his hand in front of Sol’s face. She waits for something horrible to happen, but nothing does. His brows knit. “Oh, now this is wonderfully interesting.”

“I kept her safe until you were back in power, sire. I knew she could be of use to you. And there’s more!” Paul huffs. “Look at her nape! Sol.”

Sol is very confused. Paul’s eyes bore into hers. “Turn around and lift your hair up,” he pleads, his voice wavering. She does as she’s told, and immediately hears audible gasps. What the hell.

“My my,” Crowley purrs. “Now this, this is special. Turn back around darling.” Sol turns around, met with perhaps the most confusing expression she could have imagined on a person’s face. Crowley has a cocktailed expression of fear, annoyance and smugness. Paul looks as determined as a rat who wants to chug a bottle of rat poison. The rest of the room occupants are a picture of dumbfoundedness.

Crowley turns slowly away from her. She can’t precisely see what’s going on, but all of the demons look panic-stricken. One of them falls out of their chair, backing up on the floor. “Please- sire, I’m-”

Crowley clicks his fingers. All of the demons in the room, except Paul, explode into flames. Sol’s squeal drowns within the noise of screaming and pleading demons. Paul and Sol turn their heads away as the heat sears the air in the room. The demon turns to look at her. His eyes are completely red and there’s smoke seeping out of his skin. He smiles a terrifying smile and growls: “oh, this is gonna be great.”


	3. It's Cruel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sol is stuck in hell, and has to find a way out. Paul is an asshole.

Sol is not one to be terrified.

It’s never been an issue.

When faced with a dangerous task, Sol does what she must to execute it perfectly. By this point, it had been a force of habit. Take a car full of drugs across a border? No problem! A cop stopping her on her way is just a new friend waiting to be befriended. A customer decides they don’t feel like paying the correct amount and are holding a gun to her head? No biggie, a call to either Paul or Candy, and the customer will regret waking up that morning. Some thug is chasing her in an abandoned hotel, where she was supposed to find some artifact? No sweat. She’ll either outrun the bastard, or hide behind some corner then knock them out with a brick. It’s not very complicated. There’s always a solution. There’s always plan B. There’s always another answer. There’s always someone who’s got her back. 

She’s a small, insignificant delivery girl, enslaved by an unspoken contract, metaphorically signed by her stupid teen self a few years back. Her unimportance is her safety card. Her charm is her hook. Her calm demeanor is her best weapon. She’s a fast runner, she’s a quick thinker, everything will be alright, in the end. Nothing surprises her anymore, because working for a bunch of criminal weirdos tends to keep one up on their feet.

And that’s even without mentioning all those moments of self doubt. Moment where she had to take a second look, because hey, what’s up with that person’s face? Or woah, I thought I was alone in this forest, what’s that weird shadow over there? But none of those moments ever came to fruition. They always had the same end result: Sol shaking her head, realising she saw nothing out of the ordinary, her mind playing tricks on her, and going about with her day. Yes, nothing has ever truly terrified her. She’s gotten so used to all of this the last ten years, that when taking a trip down memory lane it all looks like a big blur. A puzzle of identical looking pieces.

But now, Sol realises, she is experiencing fear. Terror. The real kind that normal people probably experience when faced with life threatening situations. It’s not an unnoticed tremble in her hands, or a deep breath she has to take. It’s freezing dread pumping through her veins. She cannot move, or speak, or blink, or breathe. Her mind is empty, as if her brain said to itself: “Well, I’m definitely out of here. Good luck with that, yeesh.” 

Her anger tries pushing against the fear. She wasn’t really a delivery girl, wasn’t she. She was Paul’s ticket for… Something. Her very existence and safety, another man’s treasure. A pain begins developing in the pit of her stomach. That fucking traitor.

The room is still filled with curls of smoke, and the heat is overbearing. Paul is still standing, somehow, in the back of the room, trembling slightly. Crowley finally takes his blood-red eyes off of Sol and walks lazily toward Paul. “You’ve done sort of well. I must say I am positively pleased.” He clicks with his fingers (what’s up with that?), and a collar of red symbols appear on Paul’s neck, burning just underneath the skin. Paul takes a visible gasp, falling to his knees. “I’m afraid I cannot release you from your contract. Yet…” Crowley seems to be choosing his words delicately as he speaks. “But I will update your terms of employment.” The glowing symbols on Paul’s neck twist and wring, changing their appearance.

“Thank you, sire,” Paul gargles.

“No one can know. Clear, isn’t it,” Crowley says in a hushed voice.

“Yes,” Paul whispers. “I understand.”

“Put her in a cell. I will find someone to guard her. And if you tell anyone of her existence, I will know. I need to understand… What she is, exactly. It might take some digging. Until then, not a word of this. Once I am satisfied with the information I find, we shall see about your contract.” Crowley sits back in one of the chairs, pulling his legs up on the table, rejoining with his forgotten glass of wine. “Bye bye now,” he says as he waves his hand in the air.

Paul walks over to Sol, still frozen in her place, and places his hand on her shoulder. His grip is powerful, as if his hands are made of steel. “Come.” He pulls her away back into the corridor, and they begin walking away, the sound of Crowley’s chuckle echoing behind them.

Every step is heavier than the last one. She’s barely aware of her surroundings anymore. Dark stone walls turn darker, air becoming thicker. They reach a long corridor with hundreds of heavy metal doors. It seems to go on forever. One of the doors is open. Paul pulls her inside, closing the door behind her with a thud. There’s a small window in the door, just at eye level, so Sol can look into Paul’s eyes with as much hate as she can muster.

“You’re a real bastard,” she whispers. “You know that, right?”

“Wakey wakey, kitten.” Paul’s voice sounds completely different. Shaken yet intoxicated with excitement. Is it even the same person? “Where did you think your life was going?”

“I’ll be honest with you, you sick fucker.” She wants to scream, but he’ll probably like it. “Not to hell.”

“Don’t deal with demons if you don’t want to end up in hell,” Paul says giddily. “Soon, I’ll be free too. You know what’s that like, wanting freedom.”

If there was no door between them, Sol would launch fists first into his asshole face. There’s a wrench in her chest, like her heart is clenching to a halt. She doesn’t exactly know why this betrayal is so painful. She’s never really liked Paul, but apparently she never hated him too. “You- you…”

“Shut up, Sol.” His voice is barely a whisper now. “For once in your pathetic little life, shut it.” He comes closer to the door, his expression unhinged. “You really do not understand this world. You have always walked through it carefree. And while I will admit, you were cute company, there are things bigger than your small existence. Things you cannot possibly imagine.” Paul’s voice is draped with glee, like he’s waited eternity to say these words. “I am done, being a lowly demon, in charge of other lowly demons, in charge of humans. In charge of nothing,” he spits. “And you, kitty, are the key to end this long wait. There are so many things to be done… And there is so little time. Events have been set into motion, now. Crowley will see, he’ll see that you’re real. And then he’ll reward me.”

For the first time in a long time, tears of frustration well up in Sol’s eyes. Paul laughs an ugly laugh. “Oh, Sol… Don’t worry. You might survive to see hell’s ascension. But for now, you’ll be here.”

“So all of these- all of these years!” Sol finally pushes the words out of her mouth. “What was that delivery career, exactly?”

“That was me, doing my job,” Paul says with a smile. “And keeping an eye on you, figuring you out. That was me waiting for Crowley to return to his throne, so that I can finally negotiate voiding my contract. That was me preparing you for the role that you play in hell’s game. That was me ensuring my place in the end of the world.”

Sol opens her mouth, then closes it. This isn’t real life, isn’t it. Oh god, is she in a coma and everything is a dream? Or maybe someone gave her drugs, and she took the drugs - and now she’s a crazy person. None of this is real. This can’t be real.

There’s a low growl outside the small cell. Sol can’t see anything, but Paul looks happy. He gives her one last glance, then vanishes with a gust of black smoke.

“Come back here!” Sol finds her voice, banging on the heavy door. “Paul!” Her shouts ricochet throughout the corridor. “Fuck you!” she screams, just for the heck of it. “Fuck you, you fucker!” She continues to swear, but after a minute of screaming and yelling at nothing, exhaustion finally washes over her. She staggers backwards, sitting in the middle of the empty room. There’s faint crimson light coming from outside the cell, but other than that, it’s her and the darkness. A ragged breath shudders through her, one question still screeching inside her mind.

_ Were you really this blind? _

Rummaging through her memories, two things are now  _ very  _ clear. One: yes, she was this blind. The realisation is painful. And two: she has to get out of here, and quickly. Because whatever lies ahead, the phrases “end of the world” and “hell’s ascension” are related to either a great metal album, or an event which Sol wants no part of.

She takes a deep, calming breath. Paul is right.

It’s time to wake up.

Sol stands on her feet. It’s no time to descend into despair, not yet, at least. She’s still fighting the fear. Use it. She finally takes a good look at her surroundings. Everything seems to be made out of dark stone, the door a heavy metal. There doesn’t seem to be a way to open it from the inside. Outside there are rows of cells identical to hers, but she can’t tell if they’re occupied. 

Sol touches the back of her neck. Nothing feels out of the ordinary. What the hell did they see that she can’t? Why does it even matter? 

She gets up and puts her face to the little cell window. “Hello?” she yells. At first there is silence. But then she can hear it again. The low growl, coming from the direction of the floor. There doesn’t seem to be anything there.

“Hello…?” she tries again.

Her eyes catch a glimpse of something, a flicker of… Something. Her gaze pries under the veil, as if she could always peel away the layers of existence. Instinctively, she wants to push it away. No! Not this time. Sol concentrates on the flicker, pulling it, tugging at it. It’s like doing origami with her mind, and the feeling is unpleasant.

And then it happens. One moment there’s nothing.

And then there’s a monstrous-looking hound sitting in front of the door. It’s huge, the size of a small-ish bear that ate nothing but steroids its whole life. It’s completely black, except the eyes; two glowing red bulbs of light. The monster snarls at Sol, as if it knows it has been located. It bears an impressive set of teeth. A red haze is coming out of its mouth, like the mouth of a volcano. Sol takes a wild guess: this isn’t a regular guard dog.

Even if she could manage this door open, the thing would immediately attack, no doubt about it. Why can she see it now and not before? _ She can see us _ , Paul said. She isn’t supposed to be able to do that. Maybe humans aren’t supposed to see most supernatural occurrences. Or maybe those who see, don’t survive.

“Hello.”

The voice takes her by surprise. So much so that Sol takes a leap back from the door. It’s coming from the next door neighbour; the cell opposite of her’s. Alright, let’s do this. Sol approaches the door again. “I need help.”

There’s a moment of silence. Then the voice sneers. “Don’t we all.”

“Is everybody in hell a dick?” she asks. It was meant to be a silent self note. There’s an audible surprised chuckle in the cell. “You’re stuck here?” she persists. No answer. “Did you know this place is full of demons and weird dogs?” The person in the other cell maintains their silence. “Not a very talkative dick are you.”

“When you spend your days staring at a wall with no hope of leaving, you don’t really feel like having a chat,” comes the reply.

“I would think it’s the contrary,” she asserts. “Why are you here?”

“I pissed someone off. Why are you here?”

Sol takes a moment to think. “I’m not sure. I made a mistake. I trusted the wrong people.”

“That’s a lot of mistakes for one demon.”

“I’m not a demon.”

“Huh.” The voice sounds genuinely taken aback. “What are you?”

“I’m… Human. Just human.”

The voice giggles faintly. “Well, that sucks. Odd, though.”

“Odd?”

“If you’re human, you shouldn’t be here.” The voice says. “Humans are fun to mess with, if you’re a demon.”

Sol doesn’t like the sound of that. “Mess? Mess how?”

The monstrous hound jerks violently toward Sol’s cell, releasing a loud bark, as if warning her: “Don’t push it.”

The person in the other cell continues to mumble: “We’re never getting out… Never...” over and over, and Sol is left to converse with the beast. It doesn’t seem keen for a chat. Shit. This feeling of helplessness is foreign to her. This feeling of… Being small - suddenly it’s not reassuring. Demons, vampires, creatures of the night. What else had been lurking just under her nose? What else had she been walking amongst her entire life? She can’t be the only human that has noticed. These demons are clearly doing some business with people. Soul business. Was she supposed to sell her soul? Is that why Crowley was angry?  _ Immune. _ That’s another word that stuck with her. She’s immune to some of their powers. She doesn’t understand this, but hopefully she will soon. 

Sol refocuses on the hound. It stares back. Maybe it isn’t used to people staring.

“I need to get out of here,” she whispers to the monster. She feels an itch at her nape and her hand shoots immediately to grip the back of her neck protectively. There’s a slight shift in the hound’s stance, and it releases a whiny whimper. They share a look, and whatever the dog is seeing, it doesn’t like it. As soon as their eyes meet again, the hound whines again.  _ I need to get out of here _ , Sol thinks again.

As if by command, the hound launches itself into the cell door. Sol jumps back with a screech. The banging on the door intensifies, the beast throwing itself at the door again and again in rabid speed. The cell door creaks and moans, until finally it gives in and crashes to the ground with a loud thud. Sol waits for the hound to attack, but instead the monster pivots and makes a run for it, speeding away with its tail between its legs.

Run now, ponder later.

Sol springs out of the cell, taking a glance into the opposite one. She can barely make a man’s character within the shadows, still mumbling to himself. He’s hugging his knees, rocking back and forth like a… Well, like a crazy fellow. She can’t help him. “I’ll be back for you some day,” she lies. And then she starts running.

Sol doesn’t have hell-GPS, but it doesn’t matter. The more distance she puts between herself and that cell, the better.

Run now, find her way later. 

She’s a fast runner. Her knees are her pride and joy. The only thing she’s done more in life than waiting, is running. Whether after something, away from someone, or running just for the heck of it. However, running in hell is a different kind of jog. It’s running through a dark, kinky maze. Corridors upon corridors of rooms, cages, screaming voices. A maze of: here’s a hall filled with fire, hey look it’s a torture dungeon. Sol runs so fast she can’t make out the fine details. She needs to be gone before anyone takes notice of her absence. How does one get out of hell?

And then Sol remembers something. Paul is a demon, working for a demon, and the Shadow Group is a bunch of demons. That means perhaps anyone Sol has worked with, is either a demon, or a monster. And while Paul is a fucking asshole, Sol still has aquaintances, whether it be customers or fellow collegues. She can’t believe she hasn’t thought of this. 

There’s still no one around. Why is hell so empty? Is everyone at work? Sol takes out her phone. She doesn’t have a signal here, of course. But there’s always hoping. 

Time for plan B. Who should she call? Are all demons friends? Will they throw her under the bus? What if she accidentally calls someone, and they’re human and think she’s crazy? There’s only one person in her contact list, who she can identify for certain. Whether they’ll be able to help is a different matter. 

Sol finds “Sharknado” easily in her contact list.

Hopefully he’ll be less grumpy than last time.  _ Help. Stuck in hell. _ Oh lord, let this be a good idea. She presses send. For a moment, the phone shows an error. Sol is about to smash it into the ground. But then, the message suddenly goes through. Maybe hell is on a layline or something. 

_ On way. Go to the pit. It’s your ticket out. _

Sol has no idea what the pit is. She doesn’t trust the vampire.

“WHERE IS SHE?!”

The voice bellows across the halls and corridors. Well, trusting the vampire it is.  _ I need to get to the pit. _ The thought is there, and then just like with the hound, hell accommodates her request. A small door appears to her left. It’s slightly open, and a wave of heat is radiating out of it. The ground begins shaking, Sol can hear shouting and yelling. Quickly, she jumps through the door and closes it behind her. As soon as she’s in, the door disappears. She’s in a huge room. In the middle of the room, there’s a hole. Well, not a hole.

A pit.

A fire pit.

A huge, deep, boiling, sizzling fire pit.

Awesome.

Sol looks down into the depths. Nothing but fire. How comforting.

The pit seems to have cleverly received its name due to the endless shaped hole in the ground. Above it there is nothing but darkness. It’s like being at the edge of a volcano, with no visible lava anywhere. The phone pings.

_ Jump in. _

Her heart drops.  _ Fuck no, _ she texts back. What’s worse? Dying at the hands of psychotic demons, or jumping into a pit of fire? Maybe she should go with whatever grants her a quicker death.

_ The fire won’t hurt you. I promise. _ Great.

“WHERE IS SHE?!” Hell booms again, the walls yelling the question at seemingly the whole universe. Okay, fiery pit let’s go. Sol takes a breath. She can feel the heat in the air, but it doesn’t hurt. She notices no sweat has accumulated on her body.

“WHERE IS SHE?!”

Sol leaps into the pit, the fire engulfing her almost immediately. She screams, her body anticipating pain. She keeps falling and falling, but nothing hurts. The fire is lapping at her body, but doesn’t burn. Mike the maybe-friendly vampire was right. Her hair dances above her head as she shoots down into a pool of red light. She can barely see anything other than orange-red lights.  _ I need to get out of here, I have to find Mike _ .

Sol hits the pool of light with a splash, and finds herself falling upwards. Bright white light fills her eyes. And then her back hits the ground, the impact knocking the air out of her lungs. “Shit!” She coughs, rolling onto her side. Her hands find the ground, and she almost cries with joy. Earth, tiny rocks, dry leaves. Not hell!

She opens her eyes. It’s early morning, wherever she is. Some kind of forest. The ground around her is partially dead, the grass and leaves pale and grey. She’s inside a perfect circle of lifeless nature. But the forest around her is much alive. She spots a small wooden bowl at her feet. It’s empty. Unrelated? She thinks not. Birds are just waking up, early morning light tickling everything awake to a new day.

“Morning.” Sol spins, ready to make a run for it. She sighs in (sort of) relief as Mike approaches her, phone in hand. “Great reception in hell, huh?” He smiles a piquant smile. “Told you I’ll be seeing you around,” he extends his hand. Sol hesitates, but decides takes it. He got her ass out of hell, somehow. She will trust him until proven it’s a bad idea. “And-” he adds tastefully, “I told you not to trust demons.”

“I’m kind of new to this, Mike,” Sol admits. “You tried to kill me last time I saw you.”

“Hey,” Mike throws his hands up. “I just wanted to have a little fun, never said I wanted to kill anyone.”

“Could have fooled me-” Sol wants to say something else, but she can feel another wave of exhaustion hit her. Black spots dance before her eyes. She trips forward, but Mike catches her. “Woah there, kitten.”

“Sol,” she spits. “It’s Sol.”

“Alright, Sol.” He puts her arm on his shoulder, supporting her weight. “I suggest we take a little drive, back to our place.”

“Our?”

“My pack’s place. Don’t worry, you’re with me, they won’t hurt you. Especially now that Crowley is back in the game… You’re still working for him. Right?”

“Yeah.” Sol nods slowly. “Yes. Kind of.” She shoots him a suspicious look as they begin making their way in the forest. “I have to ask- why are you actually helping me?”

“I don’t know, why did a human call up a vampire?” he shrugs. “Boredom? You interest me. Plus, wouldn’t hurt my pack getting on Crowley’s good side for now. We can call him, if you-”

“No!” Sol didn’t intend to sound panicked. “I mean- it’s- no. No need. I’ll call him later.”

“Working for Crowley my ass. You’re on the run. Ah… You’re getting me in deep shit.”

“What of it.”

“What’s Crowley’s beef with a human? It’s unheard of.”

“Yeah, a lot of unheard things have been happening around me the last few hours.” Sol’s legs feel so heavy she can barely walk. She just wants to sleep. And eat, oh god, how she wants food. “I called you because you understand this, and you’re the only one I can trust right now,” Sol says quietly. “All of this… These things. Demons, vampires, monsters type of thing. You know them.”

“I’m not a monster,” Mike says earnestly. “I work hard, for your information.”

Sol laughs, but Mike is serious. “It’s not as easy as you think,” Mike spits bitterly. “Being a monster in this human world of yours. We try to stay invisible. For our own safety.”

“I know what’s that like,” Sol says quietly.

They reach an opening in the forest, a gravel road snaking between the trees. There’s a crap-looing beaten up red car at the edge of the road . “Get in.” He opens the passenger door for her, and she practically falls inside, her eyes shutting themselves almost immediately. Mike chuckles, then jumps into the driver’s seat and starts up the car. The motor coughs once or twice before sputtering to life, and they begin their drive.

“Where are we, and where are we going?” Sol tries to stay conscious.

“We’re in the Black Hills. South Dakota. Our hideout is somewhere around, no worries.”

“Nice, nice…” Sol murmurs. “Don’t kill me on the way, please.”

“I’ll try.”

Good enough. Sol allows herself to drift asleep. Hopefully, Mike’s contented face isn’t the last thing she sees in this life.


	4. Sugar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Long one this time!  
> Sol meets the pack, and they have a mission for her. Trouble ensues, old friend comes to say hi.

Sol wakes up to the sound of yelling and arguing.

“Are you fucking insane mate?”

“I had no choice!”

“Bloody bullshit no choice! You could  _ choose _ to ignore that text! And you brought her  _ here _ ! Do you know how cruel these fuckers are when they want something?!”

“Define cruel.”

“I had no choice, I’m telling you. You saw it just like I did-”

“I didn’t  _ see _ it, I smelled it, and I fucking told you it might have been my fucking imagination. You know why? Because I  _ like being alive _ !”

“Maybe there’s been some kind of mistake? I mean, Crowley won’t know she’s here-”

“Maybe for now. But they’ll be looking.”

“-and how the fuck can we be fucking sure she’s… What you said. It’s impossible.”

“I’m telling you, I saw- well, I thought I saw it. Back in the bar. And she  _ can _ help us. I know it! If she’s from the Shadow Group it means she knows what she’s doing.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. You  _ thought _ you saw- bloody fucking fuck mate.”

Sol opens her eyes. She’s still in the car, and the morning has turned to noon. She doesn’t know where she is geographically speaking, but her surroundings give her some comfort. The car is parked near a simple motel, there’s a large green sign with a moon on it near the entrance. This is not how Sol would define “vampire hideout”, but she could definitely find her way around motels. 

Right before the windshield, Sol can finally see Mike’s pack. And “pack” is apparently four people, including him. There’s a big dude with dark skin and shaved head of hair who looks extremely angry, another young man with brownish skin and green eyes who’s sitting on the car hood with a bored expression on his face. Then there’s Mike, and a young blond woman; Sol immediately recognizes her as the bartender from The Drunken Squirrel. They’re all wearing clothes that probably haven’t been washed a while, and they all have worried expressions on their faces.

Sol tries moving out of the passenger seat, but her body is so tired she can barely feel it. It’s like a tractor had run her over. With all her might, she opens the door and stumbles out of the car onto her hands and knees. God she must look pathetic.

A pair of dirty sports shoes appear on the asphalt. “Need a hand?”

Need, yes. Want? No thanks. The young Hispanic helps her up and props her near the hood, where she can pretend to hold herself together. He offers her a smile.

Everyone is silent. This is really awkward.

“Uh, so, thank you?” Sol tries. It sounds really lame. The blond stifles a laugh, and the huge dark man takes a step toward her.

“Owen, no,” Mike shoots him a warning as he steps beside Sol. “Come on, you have to believe me. This is great! She knows the demons, and she’s worked for the Shadow Group! She can help! It’s a win-win!”

“Yeah right,” Owen grumbles.

“Shouldn’t we talk about this inside?” the blond suggests, motioning toward the motel. “Demons have eyes everywhere, probably.”

“Fine.” The dark man puts a steady hand on Sol’s shoulder. “If you try to run, I’ll fucking kill you,” he says with a friendly smile. Sol smiles back. She’s used to empty threats. Besides, she can’t run right now, even if she wanted to.

The group walks into room number 24. It’s a shitty room, but at least the bed sheets seem clean. The whole place is colored with gray-ish brownish colors that make it look dirtier than it probably is. The floor has a lot of sand and grime on it, and the appliances have a yellow hue to them. Sol sits on a bed, and the others scatter around the room to find some corner to be angry in.

She can’t help it. “This. Is your hideout? Not how I would imagine this place.”

“Fuck no,” Owen spits. “This, is where we’re gonna stash your ass until  _ Mike _ figures this shit out.”

“I told you, we’re nearby, in Black Hills… But Owen freaked out. So we took you here instead. This is Joe-” he points to the young Hispanic. “And you remember Theresa.” The blond nods with an amused smile.

“And you’re all… Vampires,” Sol says slowly. Mike nods. “You’re probably hungry or something,” Mike says. “We can go get you something, like a burger or whatever-”

“No- I’m not hungry right now,” Sol lies. “I want to know what the hell’s going on.”

“You and me both, sweetness,” Owen laughs bitterly.

“How did you get me out of hell? And why are the demons after me? Help you with what? Oh, and wh-”

“Woah woah there, kitten,” Mike says with a smile. “Slow down. Look,” he sighs. “Back in the bar… With that demon… I sensed it immediately. You aren’t human. I mean, I think. Sometimes you’re not human. But we have no idea what you are.”

Sol bursts out laughing. But no one is joining her. “Dude, no offense, but that’s ridiculous. You’re not making any sense.”

“I agree,” Owen says from his corner.

“I think I would have noticed, if I wasn’t human. Sometimes?”

“It comes and goes,” Mike admits. “It’s like, one moment you’re human, and then another I can sense something else. It’s weird. The way that demon jumped to protect you… In the bar… We all knew something was up. It took me a while to realize that the weird smelling thing wasn’t the demon, though. And until I did, you were gone.”

“And that’s where it should have fucking ended!” Owen bangs his hand on the table he’s been leaning against. “We’re in such deep fucking shit right now…”

“How did you know where to find me?” Sol presses for more answers.

“Hell doesn’t belong solely to demons,” Theresa chimes in. “All kinds of creatures use it, from time to time. The pit is the entrance and exit, it serves as a portal. Hell is everywhere on Earth. You just gotta know the right incantation, and get the right tools... But lately demons have taken over. So we can’t use that portal as much as we  _ should _ .”

“And now that Crowley’s back… We all stay out of his way.” The tremble in Mike’s voice is almost unnoticeable.

Sol hesitates. “Is Crowley that dangerous?”

“Oh yeah he fucking is,” Owen mutters. “We’re all so fucking dead.”

“I don’t understand. What does this have to do with me?” Sol finally says what’s been on her mind since the bar delivery. “I’m just a delivery girl for, well… For demons, apparently. Yeah,

Crowley, Paul… They said something like this too, about- how did they refer to it… Hell’s ascension?”

“I fucking knew it!” Owen bellows. “Oh SHIT I fucking knew it. Those fucking bastard demons!”

“Relax, bro,” Joe says from the kitchen. He has a joint in his hand. He offers it to Owen, who seems to be angered even more by the gesture. “Look, little lady.” Joe slurs his words calmly. “Demons are assholes, but they’ve never been too strong. They’re not good with following or leading… They’re just chaotic, man. They’re all about the strong survives. But this Crowley dude, he can lead them, and they will follow. Never seen a demon like him. He’s like, super strong. And the demons know it too. And when demons organize, it’s never a good thing. World War I? World War II? Bad memories, man.”

Sol makes a note to herself; ask about this later. “So they’re organizing a war?”

“They’re probably organizing a massacre,” Theresa says fearfully. “Demons are weak, on their own. Their strength is in numbers. And right now, they outnumber us all. And you…” Theresa’s voice dies out.

“They seem to have a plan for your ass,” Owen suggests. “We don’t know much, though. But the rumor of a human that escaped Crowley spread pretty fucking fast. And I think,” Owen continues, “we should call him right now and send her ass packing.”

Sol inhales sharply. “No!” Mike shouts. “We can’t! Whatever she is, if they want her, we can’t let them. They’re planning something!”

“A few fucking hours ago you were talking about handing her in!” Owen slams his fist on his thigh. Mike quickly shoots Sol an apologizing look. “I changed my mind,” he whispers. “Nobody, nobody gets away from Crowley like that. And a human? You should have seen her come out of the pit-”

“How do you know you’re right, Mike?” Theresa challenges him in frustration. “What if you’re wrong? If she’s important to Crowley, and we stand in his way… Owen is right. We’ll be dead as soon as they find us.”

“I don’t know about you, but I am not surrendering to a bunch of demon low-lives,” Mike says. “Look, it’s already been done. Sol’s here. I’m not calling Crowley or one of his pets. We could use the situation to  _ our  _ advantage for a change. Up our game, finally. Get an edge on both demons, and you know who.”

Owen gets up from his spot and walks over to Mike. Mike looks like a chew toy next to Owen. Joe puts his joint out in anticipation, and Theresa pricks up.

“I say,” Owen says slowly, “we make a vote. As a pack. On what we should do.”

“I say,” Mike returns the favor, “we utilize our assets, and get her to bring the thing.”

“And I say,” Sol suggests, “we all chill the fuck out.”

The vampires turn their heads to look at her. For a brief moment, Sol can see them. The real them; the sharp teeth, slanted pupils and blood-shot eyes. Push it away…

“Look. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fuck up your life.” Sol stands up on her feet. If she’s got one talent, it's to bargain her way out of life-threatening situations. “I can walk out this door and find my way to a hopefully quick and painless death. Or… we can help each other out. You get me to safety, and I’ll… Get the thing? I don’t want to put you guys in more trouble. And I’m  _ grateful _ for  _ all _ your help,” she looks at Mike. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

There is a moment of silence as everyone in the room contemplates. Owen is staring at her, so she tries to activate her “wasn’t me, I’m just a dumb little girl” expression. Usually works on furious customers.

Owen huffs. “Fine. Fucking fine.  _ If _ she gets the thing, I  _ might _ be able to trust your judgement a little bit more, Mikey. But if I sense for  _ one _ moment, that this fucking deal might fuck us in the ass, I’m leaving her tied up right here with a bow on her head for Crowley.”

“Deal,” Sol says, unaware of what she’s actually agreeing to. Time to work her magic, the only thing she truly has expertise on. “What thing do you need getting?”

“A blade,” Theresa intervenes. “A set of blades, actually. Usually, vampires can fend for themselves. We’re strong, and we have sharp teeth. But as I’ve mentioned before, demons have been taking over. They’re everywhere, and unfriendly. And now with Crowley… Well. We need to be protected.”

“Oh man!” Joe exclaims excitedly from the kitchen. “There’s some beer in the fridge! Fuck yeah!”

“Anyway…” Theresa continues. “To kill a demon you need a weapon. Some use incantations-”

“But it takes way too long,” Mikes interjects.

“Right. We need a weapon forged for the purpose. A demon killing blade.”

“I’m guessing it’s not a regular fruit knife,” Sol murmurs. “So this is a stealing kind of job?”

“Yep,” she nods. “You’ll find pretty cool weapons in almost any museum, gallery, thrift shop, abandoned places... We came to South Dakota because a friend located some of these knives for us. How lucky we should also find someone from the Shadow Group who knows the thief’s way.” Theresa gives Owen a glance.

This shouldn’t be too different from any kind of other job. Go to the place, get the thing, return without dying.

“There’s this art gallery here in Rapid,” Mike explains.”The knives are there.”

“How would I know they’re the demon killing type?” Sol wonders.

“The writing. There’s known symbols on the knife.” Theresa gets up and comes closer to Sol, sniffing the air around her. “I don’t trust you, human. If that’s what you really are,” Theresa admits, “But our pack, our kind, is in danger. Everyone is. And it looks like shit’s about to go down. We just want to protect our family.”

Sol nods silently. She understands that. The only problem, that it seems like she’s part of this danger, and she still doesn’t know why.  _ Not human _ . It’s not fair, and doesn’t make any sense. She’s never been this out of the loop on anything, literally no cards are on the table. It’s like she’s playing checkers while the universe is playing monopoly.

“I know you have a lot of questions, Sol,” Mike says reassuringly. “I get it, and I’ll do my best to help you out. But right now, we need you.”

“Yeah.” Sol looks out the window. “I’m used to being used.”

“Fuck,” Owen exclaims. Sol can’t agree more. “We’ll wait until nighttime, then the girl does her thing. Mike, you’ll go with her to get the blades.”

“What? Why?” Mike whines.

“Because this is your fucking fault, that’s fucking why!” Owen shouts. “You’re gonna watch her ass. And if anything,  _ anything _ happens… You’re out of the pack.”

Mike gulps. Theresa and Owen go to the kitchen, joining Joe around the small table. Sol sits back on the bed, burying her face in her hands. It’s so unfair. She feels like the few choices in life that were hers, were taken away from her… But at least she’s alive. That counts as a choice, at this point.

Mike sits near her. “Thank you,” he whispers.

“So this is why you decided to save me,” Sol hisses. “To get your shitty knives, and to protect you from demons in case you need a trading card to get Crowley to spare you.”

“Well-” he’s searching for his words. “Okay, I’ll admit, we- I, was desperate. You were in the right place at the right time. But it’s not the only reason.”

“So?”

“You’re also pretty cute.”

“Yeah, right.” Sol can’t tell if he’s being serious. “You said I’m not human, before.”

“Yes.”

“How come I’ve never ever heard that before? I’ve- well, I now realize I might have been working with mons- creatures, my whole life. So how’s it possible that shit hits the fan,  _ now _ ?”

Mike scratches his head. “Well, something was different. Maybe you were protected by something? So no one could sense you? Try to think. Something was different.”

He’s right, Sol realizes. Something must have been different. But what? On the night of the bar, something was different. It’s like her invisibility cloak has been lifted off her shoulders. She either lacked something she always had, or had something she’s never had before. But what?

And then it hits her.

She had a new boss.

That fucking fuckhead Paul. That’s what he meant by “a test”. He  _ wanted _ them to be noticed. He wanted to see what happens. He wanted to make sure she was  _ the real thing _ , just like Crowley implied. Paul wasn’t only keeping an eye on her, he was protecting her somehow. He was making sure no one noticed her. He was responsible for her invisibility. And once he lifted his protection... 

“You’re whiter than usual,” Mike says. “You okay?”

Her stomach growls in answer. Sol blushes and puts a hand on her belly. “I guess I’m hungry now.”

“I’ll go get something little lady!” Joe yells from the kitchen.

“I thought vampires drink blood,” Sol whispers to Mike.

“We do,” he whispers back. “Joe’s just a weirdo sometimes. He liked human food, alcohol, stuff like that. It doesn’t have the same effect on us as it does on you.”

“I also need to get some air.” Owen gets up from his chair. “And you do too,” he barks at Theresa, who crinkles her nose, but begrudgingly accompanies him to the door. The trio leaves. As soon as the door closes, arguing ensues.

“Well, as long as we’re waiting, you might want to show me the place where the knives are located,” Sol says. “I need to examine the area. Location cons and pros… Stuff like that.”

“You really know what you’re doing, huh?”

“Yeah. I do. Weird though, you being vampires, yet unable to steal three little knives. I would think you’d be great at stealth.”

“Oh, we are. Usually,” Mike says seriously. “But you are  _ way _ more experienced than us in this department. We’re used to chasing moving targets, in the wild. Not like this. Plus, some places have protection against our kind.”

“Protection?”

“Spells against the supernatural. Creatures like us can’t be harmed by human weapons, usually. But there are ways to slow us down, or hurt and kill us.”

“So humans know you exist?” Sol wonders out loud.

“Of course, some do!” Mike laughs. “I’m guessing most humans think we’re only in the books and movies. Thanks to your science. But once, people did know about the supernatural, back when it was natural.” Mike gets his phone out while talking, looking for the address online. “Think about it. Mythology, the bible, fairy tales, ancient history… They all have magic, mysterious creatures and unique artifacts in their core…”

“So it’s  _ all  _ true?!” That’s  _ a lot _ of new information to process.

“No, not everything. But most of it is,” Mike confirms. “Found it, look.” He shows her his phone. “Read about it all you want.”

Sol spends the next hour or two reading about “Shaun Gallery”, imagining possible scenarios of how everything will go down. She needs to be prepared for anything. Because now it’s not the police or the gallery owners that worry her. It’s the demons and vampires and god knows who (or what) else. 

She notices two things right away; while it’s mostly an art place it that also sells local hand-made items, and some tourist crap. It’s odd this place should suddenly have three ready-made demon killing knives. And just in time for a group of vampires to stumble upon them. In addition, it’s a busy area. There’s a few restaurants and different businesses… Which means there’s probably an alarm system for the building. Perhaps even cameras. She’ll need to be extra careful. She notices that Mike is staring at her. “What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head in frustration. “I can’t sense it anymore.” Sol gives him a confused glance, and he adds, “the ‘not human’ thing. I was so sure before… But it’s gone. You smell normal.”

“That makes two of us, Sharknado.”

“How come you get to call me Sharknado, but I don’t get to call you kitty?”

“Because it’s not the same thing, that’s why.”

“Is lemon-face better?”

“That’s an old people's nickname.”

“Well, I am old.” They laugh together.

“You don’t look that old,” Sol tries to compliment him, but it feels more like an investigation.

“Vampires don’t age. We just, mature, I guess. Internally. Our powers grow as we become older, and more experienced.”

The door opens abruptly as Owen, Theresa and Joe return from their “getting some air” walk. Joe is carrying a small take-away bag, the smell of cheap fast food refuels Sol’s hunger. Normally she would prefer something a little more healthy. But she’s so hungry... She feels like she hasn’t eaten for months. She gets up and snatches the bag out of Joe’s hands, mumbling a small thank you before burying her face into the meal. Theresa and Joe laugh, while Owen takes Mike aside. Probably to argue some more. 

“Man, you  _ are  _ hungry,” Joe says, impressed. “I wish I loved food that much.”

“How does human food taste to a vampire?” Sol asks with a full mouth.

“It’s like… Texture without taste. It’s all about the texture… But tastes like nothing. Unless it’s meat, you know. The bloodier the better. Alcohol is a different thing. It’s… Music to the body.”

“That sounds pretty cool. In humans, alcohol feels nice in the beginning. But too much, and you feel like you’ve been hit over the head with a rock.”

“That’s because humans are weak,” Theresa says simply. “No offense.”

“None taken.” Sol smiles. “I used to think that weakness is a bad thing. But the more I worked for the Shadow Group, the more I realized it’s what’s keeping me alive. Not even worth the kill, you know.”

Theresa looks surprised, but eventually she returns the smile. “That’s an interesting perspective.”

“A’ight.” Owen returns from the kitchen with Mike. They both look a little calmer. Sol isn’t sure that’s a good thing. “We’ll wait until late at night, and we’ll go. The place isn’t too far. Barely a five minute drive. But we don’t anyone noticing the car. So you two,” he points at Mike and Sol, “can walk.”

“Wouldn’t mind jogging before the heist,” Sol says bitterly. “And where will you be?” she asks Theresa, hoping Owen will answer.

“We’ll be around,” Theresa replies enigmatically. “Don’t worry. If you need our help, we’ll be there.”

“And you better not need it,” Owen adds. Joe giggles excitedly. “Man we haven’t had this much action in ages!”

“Where did all of you meet? Is there a vampire support group or something?” Sol wonders whether she should’ve even asked a personal question like this, but they all seem surprisingly nostalgic. Well, all except Owen.

Joe giggles again, “I like this one, Mike. This was definitely a good idea, bringing her here. Look at Owen’s face man!” Yep. Owen looks like he’s about to pop a vein. “Well, at first it was just me and Mr. Sourface,” Joe explains. “We’re old, old,  _ old _ buddies. We met on one of the ships that was sent to investigate America-”

“Wait. Wh- as in…-”

“I think it was… Man I can’t remember the exact year. It was so long ago.”

“1607,” Owen barks.

“Yeah! Yeah that’s it. We were among the first settlers. But we were both already vampires, of course. And Theresa came around World War I. Hottest nurse I’ve ever seen-”

“Shut up.” Theresa blushes.

“And Mikes new. Like, really new.”

“Still a quicker study than you,” Mike mumbles from his place on one of the beds. Joe waves his hand dismissively. “We found Mike like fifty… sixty years ago maybe? He was a young hot-shot private investigator. Owen wanted to kill him, of course…” Joe reminisces. “But I saw the potential. And we had an extra spot in the pack. He’s great though, right Owen?”

Owen forces himself to nod, burying his attention in his phone. “You better rest, human,” he says. Sol senses that this is more of a warning than a friendly suggestion. “You’ll need your energy.”

“Don’t you guys need some shut eye too?”

The vampires laugh in unison, like you would laugh at a puppy chasing its own tail. “Vampires don’t require much rest,” Theresa says as she sits on a chair in the kitchen, opening a bottle of beer.

That’s good enough for Sol. Her head feels heavy with the remaining, perhaps endless sea of questions. But as soon as her head meets a pillow, she blacks out. Her sleep is heavy, though it might be the fast food’s fault. 

Unfortunately, it is not dreamless. Her mind keeps taking her back into hell, through the dark corridors, back into the cell… And then, there are places and things she doesn’t remember seeing at all. A hall with a black stone throne, a room with an empty metal cage, a hand clasping a silver blade, the point pressing against Sol’s chest. The blade plunges into her heart, she screams, but no voice comes out. The blade slowly turns red, then black. Two spikes come out of the handle, the blade elongating into a sword, piercing her back. Heat boils her from within, the pain becoming unbearable-

“Sol!”

Mike’s hand jerks her awake. She leaps out of the bed, pocket knife in hand, ready to pounce. She’s sweating like a pig, her whole body shaking. She looks down at her chest. Everything is fine. It was just a dream. Oh great. Now she’s having supernatural dreams. The only nightmares she’s ever had, are job-related nightmares. Paul shooting her for not completing a delivery, or a customer attacking her.

“You better get used to those,” Theresa’s voice calms her. “Most humans don’t react well to this life.”

Sol sits on the bed, rubbing her eyes. “What life?”

“Walking among creatures like us, kind of life.” Theresa sends a comforting look Sol’s way. “There’s no leaving a life like this, you know.”

A shudder runs down Sol’s spine. “What do you mean?”

“Once you’re in, no out,” Owen suddenly says. He looks so tired suddenly. “Humans… They can’t unsee this shit. They rarely work for demons, like you. Basically, they either go crazy, get killed, or…” His voice trails off. Sol waits before finally asking: “Or?”

“They become hunters,” Joe brings her a beer bottle, which she politely declines. “They kill our kind-”

“They kill anything that fucking  _ moves _ or  _ breathes _ if they don’t like it.” Owen’s face contorts in anger.

“Are those the only options? Go dark side, dead, crazy or hunter? Nothing in between?”

Owen shrugs. “Never seen anything in between, I suppose.”

So she’s a prisoner, again. A prisoner of circumstances. She barely had choices with the Shadow Group. Now, she’s again forced to comply with what feels like an honest mistake of the universe.

Sol takes a look outside the window. It’s already pretty late. Her phone says 1:13 AM. Joe and Owen go out to the car, while Mike cleans the room thoroughly. “Better not to leave anything behind.” 

Theresa approaches Sol. “I’m not crazy about this. Or about you,” Theresa admits. “But take this. Hopefully, you won’t need to use this.” She gives her a sheathed knife. It is way bigger than Sol’s little pocket knife. 

“Thank you,” Sol whispers. “Oh don’t thank me,” Theresa says slowly. “I’m only doing this, because Joe, Owen and Mike are my family. And you need to know, that if anything happens to any one of them, you’ll need this knife. Because I will be coming after you.”

Great pep talk, now Sol’s really ready to go. Sol straps the knife to her belt, and tucks it under her shirt. Better not walk with a huge knife visible to the public, for now. They all step out of the room and walk together to the car. Owen is already in the driver’s seat, while Joe is lying down in the back, playing on what looks like a tamagotchi? “We’ll drive by every couple of minutes,” Theresa tells Mike. “Just in case. And Mikey… Don’t stay in there too long. If there’s danger, ditch the human and make a run for it.”

“I’m right here!” Sol protests.

“That’s the fucking problem…” Owen grumbles.

“Right!” Mike says loudly before another argument might ensue. “Sol and I will be leaving-”

“Phone on you?” Theresa says worriedly.

“Yeah, yes-”

“ _ Any _ sign of trouble-”

“I got it.”

“Bring me a gift.” Joe yawns. “It’s a gallery, they probably have cool stuff.”

Mike smiles, and pulls Sol with him away from the parking lot. Sol can feel the pack’s eyes pricking needles into her back. They start walking hurriedly down the street, Sol follows the GPS orders the phone shows her. Mike drapes his hand over her shoulder.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Sol pushes his hand away.

“Relax,  _ kitty _ ,” Mike whispers smugly, lifting his hand back to her shoulder. “If there’s anyone watching, we should look like a couple walking down the street, and not people who want to break into an art gallery. And definitely not a vampire, and a  _ maybe _ human.”

His touch sends chills down her spine. It’s like his otherness is flowing through her, warning her; this isn’t a human. She looks at him, and forces herself to peel away the layers of reality that cover his true face. Her view goes in and out of focus, as she makes out the details of his features, his true ones. While it is an uncomfortable sensation, it’s not as difficult as it was before. They make their way in silence. It’s a warm, damp night in South Dakota. Maybe if Sol survives this, she could come here as a tourist one day. The area is supposed to be beautiful. Mount Rushmore is not far away.

She feels a tickle in her stomach, and not the good kind. It’s not oh-I-have-butterflies kind of tickle. It’s fuck-I’m-probably-gonna-die-tonight kind of tickle. This past day was filled with thoughts of death and pain, frustrations and regrets, anger and disappointment... And yet in some sense, she feels alive. More alive than ever. As if she’s been awakened from a deep state of sleep, through which she’s been wading for the past couple of years. In the end, Paul was right. She needed this wake up call, even though the circumstances are less than fair.

After about twenty minutes, they reach the gallery. There are plenty of street lights around. Not good. Sol looks around. “I need you to do something about this.” Sol waves at the lights. “Take care of the lights, and the alarm system. I’ll be in and out before anyone notices, hopefully.”

Mike doesn’t waste any time. He goes behind the building to look for the power box. This can’t be the first time he’s done this. Or maybe it’s his private-investigator techniques. A long forgotten dream rearing its head once in a while. 

Sol stands in front of the gallery. She now sees it’s got a thrift-store vibe to it, more than an art gallery. There are various artworks inside, most of them kitschy paintings. And mugs, some wooden children's’ toys... She wonders where the knife section is. Her reflection in the window pane looks fucking exhausted, but determined. 

It took twenty four hours to change the course of her life. But then again, what was its course before? She was on a pointless journey to nowhere.

There’s a flash of red in the reflection. Sol spins around, her heart nearly pounding out of her chest, her new knife in hand. There is no one there. Fucking brain; this isn’t the time for nonsense.

The neighborhood sighs in an electric hum, and the lights in the area die out. Alarms in different buildings beep once and go silent. The area is flooded with darkness. Time to shine. Hopefully this goes without a hitch. Running away from demons, vampires  _ and _ policemen is too much work for one person. Sol takes out a small pin from her pocket; her lucky pin, that Paul gave her, claiming it will open any door. If she could throw it away and find a replacement, she would. But now knowing that the unnatural existed, makes her think this is not only a lucky pin, but a magic one. It hasn’t let her down yet.

She fumbles a little with the lock, but these local art galleries don’t have the best locks apparently. Also, who would break into a place like this? They probably don’t have much valuables anyway. While the place looks very friendly, is doesn’t scream “throw away your riches here”.

The lock clicks, and the glass door swings open. Sol takes a step inside, the knife trembling in her hand, waiting for a wailing alarm to scare the shit out of her, but nothing happens. She takes out her phone and presses the flashlight. Art galleries are scarier at night. Everything looks like a person, and all those smiling portraits look like they want to eat her face.

She passes the front of the gallery, with all the decorated greeting cards and family-friendly posters, and rifles past the cash register counter, which is covered with cheap jewelry and magnets, and heads straight for the back of the shop. They always keep the good shit in the back, any movie can teach you that. Luckily, the back of the store is labeled “staff only”, so it’s easy to guess where expensive items might be stashed. There’s also a second story to this gallery; but for now, the first floor is enough.

It’s not her first break in, and not her first “steal that out-of-the-ordinary looking artifact”. And yet she feels off her game. She’s done this hundreds of times, but today feels like a first. She shines the light around her, looking for possible clues. Where would you put a bunch of knives? This is a family-friendly place. It would not be on display. Her flashlight hits a couple of shoe boxes under a shelf. Bingo? A few of them contain various small colorful vases, and another contains heart-shaped hair clips. But the last one… Yes. 

There’s a dirty looking towel inside, and within, metal objects. Sol unfolds the cloth, and finds three knives. She has to admit, they’re beautiful. They have a rich, dark-brown hilt, swirls of black coarse through it. The blade itself looks like it’s made of silver, and it has strange symbols carved into it. They aren’t sheathed, though. She’ll have to carry the box. Easy peasy. She tucks the box under her knife-wielding arm, and makes her way back to the front. She locks the door from the inside, then climbs up the stairs to the second story. It’d be better to climb out of a window, so that whoever got these knives into the gallery, won’t sense there was a break in. Not until they’ll all be far, far away from here.

She finds an appropriately sized window, and pulls a lever to open it. And just as she does, she hears it. It’s so faint, she could have easily decided it was nothing. But this is new Sol in different times. And new Sol, decides nothing shall always be something. A creak. Where is it coming from? Normally, she would not be afraid, because the easiest choice is to start running. But with late events, running feels pointless, and perhaps even dangerous. Freezing in place, Sol shoves the shoe box tighter under her arm and turns off the flashlight pushing the phone into her pocket. She steadies the knife in her other hand, and waits. Nothing happens. Her attention sways back to the window. She looks down. Mike is standing in the back area of the gallery. He looks up at her, and smiles, motioning her to come down already. And she’s about to do just that, when his expression changes from “yay” to “oh shit”.

Sol ducks and kicks blindly behind her just as a hand hits the window; where her head used to be, shattering it into pieces.

“Sol!” Mike yells from outside.

So much for easy peasy.

Her attacker staggers backwards, but the kick did nothing. She can’t see who or what it is, there’s no light anywhere. Everything is a black blob floating in space. She fights to reorganize her breath. Another movement to her right. Sol rolls down the stairs as a foot tries smashing into her chest. Hugging the shoe box she gets up and makes a run for the front door. It’s fuck stealth time.

“Not so fast sugar.” Sol feels as if something is pulling her backwards, a belt of invisible power reeling her back into the room. Sol knows that voice. But she doesn’t want to.

A hand touches her shoulder, turning her to face her attacker. She still can’t see, but it doesn’t matter now. “Hey there, Candy,” Sol whispers.

Candy and Sol go way back. Way back to when Sol was only a new recruit for the Shadow Group, and demons were still fictional. Candy was Sol’s… Tutor. A tall red-head, with skin so white you could swear it’s transparent. She always wears heavy gothic makeup (and gothic clothes to match), and is tattooed head to toe. Candy is pretty marvelous, and extremely cunning. 

Candy knew the criminal ways, and was happy to teach Sol the basics. But more than anything, she was Sol’s unforeseen friend. Candy was there when she was needed. To guide, to throw a bitchy remark, to support, to throw some more bitchy remarks. And Candy would always show up out of the blue. Never in one place, never for too long. Sol liked Candy’s spiciness and no-fucks-given attitude. It was good to be able to laugh together and unleash her inner disgruntled worker crap. Candy was the closest thing Sol had to a safe space. 

Paul would frequently come up in conversation, they liked pointing out his flaws just for the heck of it. Oh, and Candy was also the go-to-girl to anyone in the Group who had an uncooperative customer. Five minutes with Candy, and they were left a pitiful mess on the floor. Sol never saw Candy in action, since waiting outside the door was the usual deal, but had no wishes to do so. And it hasn’t occurred to Sol until this very moment, that Candy is probably a demon. Everyone in the Group might be a demon. And Sol knew it was not advisable to mess with Candy. Not when she thought she was human, and definitely not now.

“Wooh!” Candy sighs and giggles at the same time, her hand still on Sol’s shoulder. Sol tries to struggle, but it’s like she’s tied with an invisible rope. “Well, this is a wonderful turn of events!” Sol tries to move her head so she can look outside the windows. “Oh, don’t worry about those vampires. They’re busy now.” Fuck shit. If she’s not killed fighting Candy, Owen or Theresa will organize her death.

“Well. I am truly in awe honey! I mean… You blow into town with a bunch of vampires... Honestly Sol, I  _ never ever _ imagined anything like this would ever happen. But you did surprise me, you know. You being here. But hey! Two birds with one stone! You and the bat-gang!”

The scent of sulfur fills the room. Candy will now do the black smoke thing, and they will reappear in hell, just like what Paul did. Nope nope nope.

A loud scream breaks the uneasy silence, it’s coming from outside. This is bad... Sol has only but a few seconds to decide what she’s going to do. Focus. Paul said she’s immune to some powers, but here’s Candy, basically holding her with nothing but what seems like sheer will power. But maybe Sol can do something, just like she did with the hound. Just like she could choose to see or unsee the realities of this world. Now would be a really good time to figure this out.

_ I need to stay here. _ Black smoke starts enveloping Sol’s hands.  _ I need to stay here. _ She begins feeling that pull in her stomach. There’s another fit of yelling outside.  _ I have to help them. _ Suddenly, the pull stops, her body limps as the invisible binds release her. Candy releases an angry squeal before Sol’s throws her knife into what  _ should _ be the demon’s shoulder. Candy squeals in surprise, reeling backwards into a card stand, the smoke following her like a trail. Sol hugs the shoe box tighter and makes a run for the door. On her way, she realizes she doesn’t have time to open the door. And so she decides the next best thing is throwing herself at it, the hilt of her pocket knife pointing at the pane’s center. As soon as she hits it, the door shatters, showering her with tiny glass fractals. Sol clambers out the gallery, and immediately runs behind the building.

Mike is wrestling a demon who Sol doesn’t recognize. Her gut feeling was right; this was a trap; but not for her. For the vampires. But why?

“Look out!” Mike shouts. Sol throws herself into the floor yet again, a “woosh” of air passing above her. Candy looks very angry and confused, her neck and shoulder bloody; but Sol’s new knife is nowhere to be seen.

“You little shit,” she hisses. “Fine. I’ll just call Crowley here-”

Yeah, Sol has heard enough. “Take it!” she screams, throwing the shoe box to Mike. She doesn’t wait to see where it lands, instead throwing herself at Candy, grabbing the demon’s hands. Anything but back to hell.

They fall on the floor. Candy’s eyes flicker black, and Sol is thrown into the air like someone shot her out a cannon. This is  _ not _ a fighting mechanism she’s used to. All her senses and instincts are in disarray. Even breathing properly is an impossible task. She hits the asphalt with a gasp, Candy’s foot crushing into her stomach. Sol coughs and tries to inhale, but a hand grabs her throat, pinning her down. “Wow, Paul was right. You are a pain in the ass!” Candy spits. And again, the black smoke starts rising.

“No!” Someone pulls Candy off of her, Sol finally able to inhale sharply. Watching a vampire and a demon fight is scarier than Sol expects. It takes her a few seconds to recognize Joe; his dazed and friendly face gone, replaced by a grimace of rage, teeth and blood. He sinks his teeth into Candy’s shoulder, the demon screaming in agony. Behind her, Mike, Owen and Theresa are wrestling with a group of now five demons.  _ Where did they all come from? _ The shoe box, containing what may be their only chance of surviving this, is still on the floor, every time the vampires make a move toward the box, the demons launch at them, pushing them further away from it. And currently, Sol is the only one with two free hands.

“The knives!” Mike shouts at her.

“Help me!” Joe squeals as he tries to constrict Candy between his arms.

“Get her!” Candy screams. 

The five demons whip their heads to look at Sol, flashing both black eyes and evil grins, and sprint toward her voraciously.  _ You got this. _ Sol makes a decision. She runs toward the demons, much to the dismay of Owen who roars: “fucking hell!”

Sol ducks and slides across the ground, barely scraping one of the demons legs as they all try to grab whatever they can get. She rolls once then twice, staggering onto her feet. With a great “oof!” she jumps on the box, tearing it open. She throws two knives wherever, and grabs one herself. The next few moments go by so fast, she’s only able to recall them as soon as they’re done. Two demons charge at her, while the other three take on Owen and Mike. Theresa is running to help Joe, who’s screaming bloody murder. 

Knife in hand, Sol does the only thing she knows how to do; slash and stab whatever is in front of her, hopefully near their tenders. One of the demons waves his hand at her face, but nothing happens. He looks mildly confused. Sol slashes across his chest and he groans in agony. The other one grabs her hand, trying to pry the knife out of hand. But Sol knows this maneuver all too well. She twists her hand against her opponent's thumb, and releases herself from his grip.  _ It’s either you, or them. _ Before she is able to acknowledge the movement, her knife is burying itself deep into the demon’s chest. The man looks at her, eyes black with rage, he opens his mouth to cry out in pain, but instead, a cloud of fire and smoke bursts out. The demon disintegrates from the inside, burning until there’s nothing left but a pile of ash. His friend seems annoyed, but not enough so that he’s learned his lesson. He tries punching her in her face, but Sol sways aside and he misses. Yet again, her will to live outweighs her fear. She sinks the knife into the demon’s stomach with a swift motion. He falls to his knees. Sol doesn’t stay to watch him die. She starts running back, to help Joe and Theresa, but stops dead in her tracks.

Candy isn’t there. But Theresa is. And so is Joe’s body. His head is a few feet away on the curb, a surprised expression fixed on his face.

“Fuck!” Owen manages to plunge his blade into a demon’s face, quickly jumping to Mike’s aid. As the last demon crumbles, silence takes over the street. Theresa’s eyes drill into Sol’s skull. Her eyes are brimming with tears, and her hands are still holding the body, unable to let go. 

“No!” Owen rushes past Sol, standing above his friend’s body. “No…” He turns to look at her, his eyes are completely blood-shot. His sharp teeth are dripping with blood, and his chest and neck are covered in scratches and bruises. “You.” He takes a step toward her, Sol’s fingers tighten around the knife. “You!” he roars, charging at her. Mike jumps in front of Sol, suffering the full impact of Owen’s attack. They crash to the ground.

“Run Sol!” Mike shouts, clawing at Owen’s skin as he tries holding him in place. “Go!”

She does. She starts running, it doesn’t matter where. Theresa’s cries echo behind her. By the time she stops, she’s outside of the city. The hills and forests around her are only shadows, inviting her to disappear within their darkness. A shuddering breath runs through her. When she looks at her hands, she’s surprised to find one of the demon blades. She took one. She shouldn’t have done that. It was theirs.

All of this was because of her. In her mind, it was supposed to be a question, but instead it turns into an accusation. Someone was killed because of her tonight. Because of her choices. Because of her being there in the first place. Perhaps if she hadn’t been there, the vampires wouldn’t walk into that trap in the first place. Who’s their  _ friend _ who told them about the knives? That’s who should have taken the blame. 

Mike took a hit for her, god knows why. The pack was her chance to understand all of this, to have a chance of surviving this new reality. And Candy evidently managed to escape. No doubt they’ll meet again down the road. Sol wants to scream, but that wouldn’t be a good idea.

She has never killed anyone before. It is not her place to decide who lives or who dies. Better to run, and she’s really good at that. She of course knows how to defend herself, and Paul had tried drilling it into her mind that hurting someone who tries to harm you is more than fair. Never in her wildest nightmares, did Sol think she would be able to follow that old lesson. One which she’d pushed deep into the “no-no” drawer in her brain. This isn’t how things are supposed to be. All of this, is wrong. A mistake.

She looks up at the sky. Outside the city, the stars are beautiful. The sky kisses the dark horizon, and the hills seem to go on endlessly. But along the dark road, Sol can see a small flicker of light. That’s what’s so wonderful about the US. There are pubs, bars, diners, gas stations and random convenient stores in the middle of nowhere almost everywhere you go. She calculates it’s only an hour or so of walking. She can manage. She just needs some food and water, and then she’ll go sleep in the woods. It wouldn’t be the first time. But she definitely  _ should _ put some miles between her and the city. Crowley, Candy, Owen and Theresa. One of, or all of them together, might be on their way. Some to kill, some to imprison. Hopefully, Owen doesn’t kill Mike. She owes him her life, twice now. And she will have to repay this favor somehow.

Walking in the dark soothes her. She doesn’t exactly like the dark, but it is comforting. It embraces her, allows her to be invisible even from herself. The closer she gets to middle-of-nowhere, the more jittery she becomes. The last time she was in the middle-of-nowhere, it was a pub full of vampires, and her life changed forever. It’s difficult to comprehend that it was now barely two days ago. But she’s tired, hungry, thirsty, despaired… 

Yet again, a short gravel road leads her towards a crude looking pub. A pub, again. Great. There are still lights inside because thank god, it’s a 24-7 place. A bright red neon sign states “Jett’s Pub and Grill” and “OPEN”. As Sol comes closer, the smell of chips and burgers meets her nostrils. Oh lord yes.

Before she steps inside, she notices she’s not alone. There’s a car outside. A very cool, classy looking car. If she had a car like that, she’d never walk again. She never thought she’d miss Paul’s crappy car, especially at a time like this. She tips an imaginary hat to the black Impala, and strides inside the pub.


	5. Never Gonna Be the Same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sol makes some allies and gets to know some hunters. Also, Candy is pissed. Time to hit the road.

Outside was always more of a home than inside. Outside could be the street of a suburban neighborhood, or the murky alleyways of a city. It could be the stairway of a tall skyscraper, or a wheat field on a hot summer day. It could be the lobby of a prestigious hotel, or the parking lot of a dingy motel. Even a bar, a pub or a diner could be considered outside. Because inside was just one dreary place, and that was Paul’s car. Her crappy moving apartment. When she’d get a call or a text from Paul, ordering her to go here or there, directing her to this address or meet up with that person, she felt at home. Safe. She knew what she was doing, and she would figure out the rest on the way. If she had a goal, and a bed to rest her head for the night, she was home. Food was never an issue. For a few dollars, she could get a salad, or a sandwich, sometimes a burger and some fries. Alternating was the key. She never went hungry or thirsty, and even in the most dangerous places she never felt too unsafe. All jobs included a “delivery fee”. Cash. That was her salary. The more dangerous the job, the higher her salary.

Sol got to know a lot of people on the job. And sooner or later, and if they were nice enough, they got to know her. She’s the delivery girl. No one was too angry at her if they had an issue with her boss, or with the contents of the delivery itself. It wasn’t too long before she started getting free stuff from regulars. A beer pint from Richard, who ran a bar in Austin, Texas. Chocolate covered pancakes from Ruth’s Diner in Salt Lake City. Fresh socks from Dan, a truck driver who usually delivered to clothes stores across the US, though she was pretty sure clothes weren’t his main trade. If she needed something she could get it, wherever she was. And those who knew her helped her retain her anonymity, because there was some sort of mutual trust.

But now, the very thought of knowing so many people sends chills down her spine. She can’t trust anyone anymore.  _ Anyone _ . Anyone could be a demon who could call Crowley within a second. Anyone could be a vampire that just feels like taking a drink. Anyone could be something that wants to kill her. Theresa’s warning echoes in her mind; get used to it. Sol isn’t sure she wants to get used to constant fear. 

But when she walks into the dimly lit Jett’s Pub and Grill, it’s like all her fears melt away. A nostalgic feeling of  _ home _ washes over her. There’s old country music playing in the background and the musk of greasy food hanging in the air. While this is a foreign place for her, Sol feels a sensation of peacefulness. This is home.

She sits at the bar, sighing heavily, trying to release everything that went down. She needs a few calm moments, before stepping back out into never ending stress.

“What’re you drinking?” The bartender approaches her. He’s a middle aged man with a wild gray beard, and long gray hair held up in a ponytail. His face is stern, yet pleasant. He has this mix of “how can I help you” and “sick of your shit” kind of look. That’s good. Sol is good with these types of people.

“Just, water. Please.” She shouldn’t get drunk right now. Maybe later, when she really wants to forget all this crap. “And I’ll have a burger, whatever is cheapest,” she adds with an apologizing look. He grumbles and goes to the kitchen to prepare the order. Sol takes a peek at her phone. It’s 3:40 AM. She can hang here for a few minutes, but she needs to head out before sunrise. The bartender sets a glass of lukewarm water before her, awarding her with an annoyed “here ya go.” He’s either really really tired because he’s understaffed, or he’s just an asshole. She spins around on her chair, resting her back against the bar, and takes a good look at the place. There are a total of two people here, besides her and the bartender. Two men are sitting at one of the tables, adjacent to a window. One of them drinking a beer peacefully, while the other is typing away on his laptop with a focused expression. Weirdos. Sol takes a sip of the water; which oddly enough causes an unpleasant sensation in her mouth, but she downs them anyway. A disgusting taste of metal fills her mouth. Well, this ain’t the worst she’s had.

“So who are you running from?”

She whips her head to the bartender with shock. He hands her a depressing looking burger. “I’m not running,” she says automatically, a churn in her stomach. She must look terrified, because he laughs and says: “relax! I’m joking around, jeez. Not many people come in at hours like this.”

“Yeah, I’m… I was hungry.” Sol takes a bite out of the burger, and it’s surprisingly good. “Thank you,” she mumbles through the food.

“Jett. Jett’s Pub and Grill, I’m Jett,” he says proudly. She didn’t ask, but what the hell. Let the man be pleased with himself. “But honestly, you look paler than snow,” he says seriously. “Don’t bring trouble in here, you hear?”

“No sir,” Sol replies in amusement. She loves older bartenders. They’re always so down to earth, they aren’t here to play stupid games. They’re here to give you your drink, and kick your ass to the curb if you misbehave. As she finishes her meal, she can hear the men at the table behind her chatting in hushed voices. This puts her on edge. She sneaks a glance at them, but they aren’t looking at her. Relax, relax. The fact that anyone could be a demon, doesn’t mean they actually are. One of them gets up and walks toward the bar, and Sol quickly averts her gaze, staring intently at her disgusting glass of water.

“Another two?” The man asks, placing two empty beer bottles on the counter. Sol takes another look. He’s a tall dude, with brown hair reaching his chin, wearing dirty jeans and hiker’s boots, and a red checkered flannel shirt. His appearance doesn’t scream  _ demon _ or  _ vampire _ . But then again, she lived with demons for ten years without noticing. Maybe her own judgement shouldn’t be trusted.

“Sammy! I think I got something,” his partner calls to him from their table. The man takes the two bottles from Jett and hurries back to the table. His partner is wearing similar clothes, only he has a black jacket and short hair. The pair talk excitedly with their hands pointing at stuff on the laptop screen. The bar’s phone rings, Jett answers with a bored tone.

“What?” He waits a few moments. “Aha, yeah. I see. Alright. Thanks.” He looks at Sol’s puzzled expression. “There’s been an armed robbery in town apparently. They say someone was killed.” Sol almost chokes on air. “They couldn’t find anybody in the area, but they’re looking.” His eyes examine her like an x-ray.

“Sounds scary,” Sol manages to say in a normal tone. “You get a lot of those around here? Robberies and whatnot?”

“Not at all. First one we’ve had in quite some time. Not a lot of places to rob around here.” He’s wiping some empty beer pints clean with a towel, his eyes never leaving hers. Sol opens her phone. It’s 3:58. She needs to get out of here, now. Before any more trouble can find her. She reaches into her pocket and gets a crumpled fifty dollar bill. It starts to dawn on her why the Shadow Group insisted on a “no credit-cards” policy. It wasn’t only the anonymity and immediacy of it. It was another way to keep everyone in check. Because if you needed money, you also needed to do your job. She hands Jett the bill. He takes it, and gives her the change. She leaves a tip, and makes her way to the door. 

She’s just a few steps from the door, when she feels it. It’s like someone is punching her thoughts repeatedly. Everything goes a little blurry, red filling her vision. She stops walking, shaking her head. As soon as it comes, it goes. Oh god everyone is looking at her like she’s crazy. She glances at the two men at the table. They’re eyeing her, but then again, they should. She tries to peel the layers of reality, to see their real face. But nothing happens, except her head starts throbbing. Maybe they’re just normal dudes. Then what was that feeling?

She looks out one of the windows, and has to force herself not to laugh in despair. Outside, in the darkness, lit only by the red neon, Candy awaits. She has a sickening grin, and her hands are smeared with blood. Oh fucking shit fuck. Sol doesn’t have many options. If she stays here, Candy will no doubt stride in, kill everyone and take her to Crowley. Run outside, Candy will catch her and take her to Crowley. Stand here like a dumbass waiting for a decision to be made, probably the same result.  _ You can’t come in here. _ Sol really hopes this works.  _ You can’t come in here. _ Candy starts advancing toward the door, but stops mid-stride, an invisible barrier is blocking her way. Sol wishes she could take out her phone and capture Candy’s enraged expression.

“You alright miss?” Jett calls from the bar. She probably looks downright crazy, standing in front of the door with a focused yet amused expression. She has to leave, but can’t. No one is going to save her this time. Not Paul, not Mike, no one will come to her aid to sort shit out. Especially not Candy. Sol isn’t sure how long this invisible barrier is going to hold, so the next best thing might be to make a run for it, as long as Candy’s trying to get in from the front door.

“Is there a bathroom here?” Sol says as confidently as she can muster.

“Well I don’t shit back here, do I,” Jett spits. “Back there, to the right,” he points. Sol practically runs to the back of the pub, behind the kitchen, looking for an exit. There’s always a back door. She should’ve fucking checked before… What’s the matter with her? When she does find a door, it’s locked. The handle fighting her. What maniac keeps the back door locked? Sol hears chatting behind her. Her breath quickens as she hugs the wall, rearing closer to listen.

“Hey there.” It’s Candy’s voice. Well, now Sol knows that whatever strength she may have, it is temporary, and much easier with dogs. “Where’s the loo?”

Oh, she’s a cunning bitch she is. Candy’s voice is charming, hearty even. It is the same voice that Sol had learned to appreciate, when she needed some guidance. Candy knows exactly what she’s doing. There’s nowhere to hide. She can’t sneak into the kitchen without being seen, if she makes a run for it, she’s putting other people in danger. She’s fucked on another level of being fucked. Perhaps just getting it over with is her better option. She’d waste less energy giving in than fighting the unfightable. She can’t win this fight. While she tries breathlessly to make a decision, there’s a deadly silence back in the pub. Finally, after what seems like forever, Sol hears Jett’s reply.

“No, sorry, it’s broken.”

What the fuck? Why would he do that? And did he intentionally direct her to a broken toilet?

“Are you sure?” Candy uses the sweetest tone she can muster. Sol crouches down. She needs to see what’s going on. She can’t let another innocent die. She manages to steal a peek. Candy is standing in front of the bar, her hands leaning against the counter. She has a sweet smile with a touch of evil, and her foot is tapping impatiently on the floor. The two men in the back are looking at her, and they seem just as on edge as Jett. The short haired one has his hand under the table, just above his belt in an anticipating position, like he’s waiting to whip out a weapon.

“Yeah. Sorry about that,” Jett says with not a hint of apologizing. “If you drive into the city you might find something there, maybe a public restroom or something. Not too far.”

Candy grimaces, like she smells something rotten. Before anyone can protest, she extends one hand at Jett, and the other at the two men. Jett is immediately thrown into the shelves above the bar, shattering bottles and glasses fall to the floor, but he stays up like a Christmas ornament. The two men groan, their bodies become rigid, like an invisible force is halting them in place.

“Sol! Come on out darling!” Candy yells. “I already got my hands dirty tonight. I don’t mind adding three more to my list!”

With a heavy heart, Sol comes out of her corner. Her legs are shaking, it’s just like with Crowley. It’s as if all the pent up fear that she was supposed to have been feeling all these years, is suddenly awakening. “There you are… You’re quick! I almost called it quits,” Candy admits. “But then I came across this little place. You aren’t as invisible as you used to be,” she snickers. Sol takes out the demon knife from under her belt. She hadn’t even realized she stashed it in there, it’s as if she’s been carrying it her whole life. Candy stifles out a laugh. “Oh sugar, this ain’t gonna cut it against me. Maybe against weaker demons… But me? I don’t think so.”

Jett grumbles, still fighting the invisible binds holding him against the wall. “Fucking- demon-” he utters.  _ What the what now. _ “Not in my fucking pub.” Candy looks just as surprised as Sol. “You’ve got to be shitting me,” she murmurs. “You’re a hunter, aren’t you.” A hunter... From how the vampires talked about hunters, it sounded like they’re supposed to be angry, soulless monsters. This guy doesn’t look like a monster. He just looks pissed.

“Why don’t you let me down-” he groans again. “And I’ll fucking show ya.”

Candy whips her head to look at the men at the table, they’re still gritting their teeth, fighting her power. “Wait a minute…” Her posture loses a bit of its confidence. “You’re-”

Sol doesn’t wait for her to refocus. She sprints at her so abruptly Candy doesn’t have time to react. She whips out her demon blade and lodges it in Candy’s chest, waiting for the demon to disintegrate. But it doesn’t happen. Instead, Candy staggers a step backwards, while Jett comes crashing down to the floor,the men at the table quickly jumping to their feet. Candy is furious. She grabs a hold of Sol’s neck. Lifting her off the floor. Sol fights to breath but to no use, her feet kicking and scrambling in panic. She tries punching Candy’s face, but can’t reach.

“Say bye bye to the nice men,” Candy hisses.

“Go Sam!”

The tall man is holding a silver flask, and waves it at Candy’s face. Transparent liquid spills all over her face. Candy screams in agony, white smoke coming off of her skin. She drops Sol, who immediately starts crawling away. “No!” Candy screams, rubbing her eyes. She waves around aimlessly, but the attack was effective.

“Now Dean!” The tall man roars at his partner, who takes out an old looking gun and shoots Candy right in the face. Candy screams again, falling to her knees - but she doesn’t die. How’s this possible?

“It’s not working!” Dean yells. Jett comes rushing from behind the bar. His arms, neck and chin are covered in blood. He’s holding two glasses of the same lukewarm tap water Sol was given earlier. He splatters them at Candy, who’s now like a tiger on ecstasy, waving everywhere, screeching and kicking around. “What do we do?!” Jett shouts at Dean. “Shoot her again dammit!”

Dean shoots her in the chest, but Candy still refuses to die. She shrieks again. Her whole face is red like a balloon, and she’s literally fuming, the white smoke coming out of her skin, eyes and mouth. With a livid howl, Candy is engulfed with black smoke. Sol rolls backwards; if Candy even touches her she might find herself back in hell. The smoke leaps into the ceiling, oozing through the wooden beams and disappearing. Within a few seconds, Candy is gone, a puddle of blood and Sol’s demon blade are the only things left behind.

Sol inhales deeply, trying to force her heart to stop beating out of her chest. Jett is cleaning the blood off of his arms and neck, and mumbling angry complaints at no one in particular. Before Sol can rise from the floor, the two men approach her, the gun in Dean’s hand pointed at her head.

“Ah ah. Stay right there,” Dean warns her. He kicks her knife farther away from her. “You okay Jett?”

“Managed to go demon free for quite a few months now,” Jett moans. “Until suddenly you two show your fugly faces here- and what do I get? A demon that doesn’t die, and this chick,” he motions at Sol.

“Relax, Dean,” Sam lays a hand on his friend.

“I’ll relax later. We need to-”

“Already checked her, dumbass,” Jett scolds him. “Holy water. Drank em’ with no problem. If she were a demon, I’d know.”

“Huh. Still got your dirty tricks old man,” Dean says, impressed. “Fine.” He holds out his hand to Sol. She hesitates at first, but takes it. He helps her up, and Sam gives her an apologetic look. “Sorry, we had to check.”

“It’s okay- I. I’m-” Sol is scrambling desperately for words. A few hours ago, she had a million questions.  _ Now _ she has trillions of them. Everything is so confusing she thinks she might throw up. But that would be rude since she  _ just _ ate. Finally, she forms a question. “Who are you?”

Sam opens his mouth, but Dean intervenes. “No no, we’re the ones asking the questions here. Who’re you?”

“I’m- well…” Sol wonders how to answer this question, without sounding completely insane. Then again, they all just fought a demon dressed like a slutty gothic barbie, and nobody batted an eye. “My name’s Sol. I’m… I used to be a delivery girl.”

Sam and Dean exchange a look. Jett joins the conversation giddily. “Delivery girl? You’ve got to be shitting me. Why would a demon chase you? Did you sell your soul for some pretty pink roller skates?”

“I worked for the Shadow Group.”

Jett shuts his face, Sam and Dean exchange wary looks. Jett takes a step toward Sol. “That’s not possible. Shadow Group is… It’s demons. It’s a bunch of hooligan demons.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.” Sol feels so tired all of a sudden. And before she can stop herself, she word-vomits everything. Everything that was of importance that had happened to her over the last ten years. Her joining the Group and meeting Paul, befriending Candy and other people from the Group. She tells them about the events of two nights ago, about the vampire bar and the attack, about Paul showing his true colors. She tells them about hell, and about Crowley’s “Hell’s Ascension”, about the vampire pack and the demon blades. It’s like she can’t stop babbling. She just needs someone who can help, someone who can maybe promise her a way out of this nightmare. The only thing she decides to keep to herself, is the little “not human” thing; which she still considers a  _ very _ questionable  _ guess _ . If Mike and his friends are correct in assuming hunters kill anything that breathes supernatural, Sol would like to hold on to her humanity a little while longer.

Jett, Sam and Dean look flabbergasted. Honestly, for a moment she thinks they’re gonna call an ambulance of something, or burst out laughing. But then Dean says: “Sammy. A word.” The pair go outside, unable to conceal their utter disdain of this situation. Jett sits down at one of the tables, wrapping a towel around his left palm.

“Well,” he says, “this is news alright.” He gives her a long look. “You’ve been working for demons for ten years, huh.”

Sol nods. “But I promise, I really didn’t know that they’re demons. I didn’t know these things exist.”

He’s still staring. “So, you really don’t know who these guys are, do you?”

“Nope. Should I?”

Jett laughs. “Man, that bitch’s face was priceless… What’d you say her name was?”

“Candy. Does  _ she _ know them? Who are they?”

“Oh man… Everybody knows them. At least, everyone who knows about the things that go bump in the night. They’re hunters. The  _ best _ hunters you can find. If there’s a god-awful creature killing innocent people, you bet your ass they’ll be there. The Winchesters… They don’t make them like that anymore.” He stops to sigh, reminiscing. “Sam and Dean are good people. Maybe they can help you. That hell’s ascension thing doesn’t sound good.”

Huh. Winchesters. So they’re relatives. That doesn’t at all sound like how the vampires described hunters. Sol pictured them like cruel FBI agents or something. “So they’re famous in the monster world too?”

“Damn right they are.” Jett pours some vodka straight into his mouth. “Crowley would give anything to kill them. But it’s hard to get the drop on them, and they’ve got some powerful friends, in heaven and in hell-”

Sol nearly spits her imaginary drink. “Heaven?!”

“Wow, you really know zilch.”

“I’m just- I want a way out of this,” she admits. Jett gives her a pitiful pat on the shoulder. “Sorry kiddo, I don’t know how to tell you this, but there’s no out. Ever. This life... “ His eyes fill with sadness. “It’s like a goddamn black hole. It sucks you in, and destroys anything you love or cherish. That’s how most of us get into this life. We lose someone we love.” He finishes the vodka bottle and slams it on the table. “That’s how I got in. Lost my wife. Been helping hunters ever since.”

Sol doesn’t know what to say. She wonders if the vampires lost people they loved when they became vampires. Maybe all this life has to offer is pain. “I’m sorry,” she finally says. “I wish I could understand. But I- I don’t have friends really. Or family. I have no one.”

“Well that’s just fucking sad, ain’t it,” Jett whispers bitterly. “This is a fucking shitty life, the life of a hunter. You got to have someone, you ain’t gonna make it on your own. Some hunters got other hunters, and some got people like me, who help on the side.”

“I’m not a hunter.”

“It don’t work that way. You’re either with us, or you’re with them,” he replies in a dangerous tone. “If it ain’t a hunter, it’s a monster. You better remember that. Because it seems to me you have trouble telling who’s who.”

Cunning asshole, this Jett guy. The Winchesters walk back into the bar. Dean looks on edge and angry (but maybe that’s just his face) and Sam seems determined. They approach Sol, both throwing a small glance to Jett. “Look,” Dean finally says after a moment, “if Crowley is planning something, anything, then it’s our business to check it out. But I don’t know if I believe you-”

“What he’s trying to say,” Sam interjects with a softer voice, “is that we might be able to help you, and you might be able to help us. If you’ve been with the Shadow Group you might have more information than even you know yourself. We just need to figure out what’s going on.”

“I agree.” Sol nods. “And I think I wouldn’t mind learning about all of this… This stuff. Monsters, hell, heaven apparently. Because from what I understand, once you’re in…,” her voice trails off.

“No out,” Sam suggests with an apologetic smile. “Believe me, I know.”

“Also, I like life. Breathing, and all. But right now I feel like the universe is trying to assassinate me. But I trust you know how to handle these things.” Sol offers a friendly smile.

“Yeah, this don’t mean  _ we _ trust you,” Dean quickly asserts. “And if you try anything, give me any reason to believe you’re not who you say you are… Well.” He doesn’t add anything, but Sol has a pretty good idea what he means.

“So. What now?” she says, looking around. “I’m pretty sure Candy will be back.”

“We’re getting out of here, and you’re coming with us,” Dean says. “Jett, you better secure the place. Devil trap every door and window-”

“Not my first rodeo, cowboy. Take care you two, and keep an eye on this one.” Jett walks back behind the bar, waving dismissively at the trio. “Keep in touch. I get the feeling this is just the beginning…”

Dean motions Sam to follow, and Sol quickly steps behind them. Outside, the chilly air of another early morning is welcoming, after all the fighting and running around. Sol takes a deep breath, crossing her arms across her chest. She needs some other clothes. All her shit is in Paul’s car. Going with these two strange dudes was not on her to-do list tonight. But then again, this beats rotting in hell-jail or getting killed by vengeful vampires. Her eyes widen when Dean unlocks the black Impala and gets into the driver’s seat.

“This.  _ This _ is your car?” she asks. Dean looks at her accusingly. “Yeah.” He raises an eyebrow. Sol grins. “That’s fucking awesome.” As she gets into the backseat, she can swear she sees him hiding a small smile. Dean revs up the car, and it roars into life. “Don’t touch anything,” Dean barks at her when she strokes the silver door handle.

Sam gets into the passenger seat and clicks on the radio. A rock song starts playing. “Where are we going?” Sol asks.

Dean looks at her through the rear-view mirror. “We’re gonna catch ourselves a demon.” And with that, the car leaps onto the road and into the unknown.


	6. She's Got Balls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sol finally gets (some, a little, tiny bits of) answers. Sam and Dean take her to get some protection against demons, and Sol meets another grumpy friend of theirs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little relaxation. Because there's always a calm before a storm... Hope you like it, and apologies for the wait.

Sol doesn’t consider herself someone who would be afraid of trying new things. Working for the Shadow Group, new things were abundant. Her life was full of surprises wherever she went. Traveling across the US, she found herself in new places, meeting new people. While there were a few regulars, and the jobs were sort of similar in style, most people were in and out of her life before she could bat an eye. Whether it be a customer or a colleague. People didn’t really stay, apart from Paul, Candy, and whoever was in charge at the time. Sol got used to loneliness, to small talk with strangers. Sol got used to trusting no one, because no one stayed longer than a two minute conversation at the door. Candy’s company was a welcome rarity, and Paul’s was unwanted.

If she had a question regarding this life, she could either ask strangers, or god. And she did not speak to god often, because of, well, atheism. On the rare occasion of meeting a person twice, she would immediately feel relief. A friendly, familiar face was an uncommon pleasure. She had never realized how thirsty she was for stable human connection. One that does not end after a few minutes of empty small-talk. Well, until now.

Sol does not ask “where are we headed” or “why are you so freakishly tall”. Instead, she wants to know  _ everything _ . Because there’s no Paul to tell her to shove her nose somewhere else. This time, she can be the boss of her own life. Feels good, feels right. Dean indicated they’re gonna have a long ride, and that means Sol has time to be thorough with her investigation. Dean treats her like a pest problem, but she can’t blame him. The last days were so filled with the unknown, that stopping herself from prying is impossible.

Her eyes are focused on the dark view outside, and she realizes the car ride has an effect on her. It doesn’t feel like just a car. It feels… Like a home. Not hers, of course. But the Winchester’s home. Sol isn’t sure why… But this car is obviously dear to their heart.

“Since when are you guys hunters?”

“Since forever,” Dean replies with a short tone.

“Our family… Mom and dad.” Sam elaborates. “They were hunters, and so are we. For years now.” So they’re brothers, not merely relatives. Sol gets the feeling Dean is the big brother. Just because he’s kind of an asshole right now.

“Where are they now? Your parents? Hunting together?”

“They’re dead,” Dean says quietly. “Like most hunters.”

“Sorry.” Seems like Jett spoke the hard truth. “So you hunt demons? Like Candy? And vampires?” She tries not to sound judgmental, but it doesn’t work.

“We hunt anything that causes trouble,” Sam explains. “Demons are just… The tip of the iceberg. Vampires too. There are many types of creatures out there.”

“How old are you anyway?” she asks suddenly. They seem like experts. Yet at the same time they look… Young. Not young-young, but young enough for her to wonder why they seem to have this much experience. Sam opens his mouth to reply, but Dean nudges him with an elbow. “Thirty-something, end of discussion. Get some sleep.”

“Not tired,” she replies. Actually, she is  _ very _ tired. But no one shushes her. Not anymore. “If Candy’s a demon, why didn’t the blade work? And your gun?”

“We’re not sure,” Sam admits. “The gun even had specialized demon-killing bullets. And yes,” he adds with a smile, “that’s a thing. The demon was supposed to die. So this… Isn’t good. And that trap you and the vampires walked into… Well, it seems you weren’t the only target.”

Sol leans forward in the seat. “What do you mean?”

“Dean and I also got a tip about three demon-killing blades in Rapid. That’s why we were in the area. You just got there first.”

That can’t be a coincidence. “When you were in Jett’s place,” she says slowly. “You were looking at your computer. It kind of looked like you were researching something.” 

Sam nods. “I was- I mean, we were.” Dean shoots him an annoyed look, as if hinting that he’s saying too much, but Sam ignores him. “And as we were researching the place, we saw signs of vampire attacks.”

Sol feels her stomach drop. “Attacks?”

“Humans turning up drained of blood,” Deans spits. “You were saying you were traveling with a pack, huh.”

“It wasn’t them,” Sol says immediately, and yet at the same time, she realizes she actually doesn’t know. Dean scoffs. “Yeah right,” he murmurs. “They’re your friends already.”

“They saved my life.” Sol feels her blood boiling. “They didn’t have to.”

“Didn’t they threaten to kill you or something?”

“But they wouldn’t. Because-”

“-oh yeah, because they needed you as what, as leverage? As a decoy? I bet that the moment they got the blades, they’d have a feast.”

“Well you’re wrong.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yeah. You are.”

“Will you two knock it off?” Sam scolds them. “Dean, this isn’t helping.”

Sol waits a moment in silence, then whispers quietly: “yeah Dean. Not helping at all.” She’s pretty sure that if this wasn’t such a fancy vintage car, Dean would slam the breaks and tackle her out of her seat. But he suffices with a sharp inhale. Sol waits for one of them to bring it up, but it’s like they’re trying to keep her out of it. “So, you got a tip about the demon blades. The pack got a tip about demon blades. Am I the only one that finds this kind of freaky?”

“No,” Sam answers, much to Dean’s dismay. “We’re going to catch the demon who tipped us.”

“Wait wait w- no. No no no!” Sol cannot handle this much stress in such a short notice. “Weren’t you listening earlier? I am being chased, by demons! One call to Crowley, and I’m done!”

“Relax,” Dean says. “Crowley doesn’t have the drop on us. And he won’t have the drop on you.”

“What do you mean?”

Sam twists in his seat to look at her. “Don’t worry, we’ll explain it pretty soon. Just- try and get some rest.”

Sol sinks in her seat, sulking a little. She’s entitled to. Being constantly out of the loop is exhausting. But fighting demons and bickering with hunters is also exhausting. Sol shuts her eyes, and drifts into sleep. She isn’t sure how much she has slept, but when she wakes up, she feels slightly refreshed. The sun is hanging high in the sky, and the car is parked in a suburban shopping center, not too different from the one in Rapid. She stretches and yawns. “Where are we?”

“Here,” Dean says.

“Wayne,” Sam says.

“Wayne?” Sol looks outside. They drove all the way to Nebraska. The area is pretty quiet-looking. Simple, pretty houses, nice green parks, a sunny day. It’s hard to believe a world like this contains demons and monsters. She gets out of the car, allowing the sun to wash over her skin, the warmth calming her. A frightening feeling of freedom engulfs her. Technically, she isn’t  _ free _ at all. But she doesn’t know where she is, or what’s going to happen today. Or tomorrow. Or the day after tomorrow, if she makes it there. She’s definitely supposed to be afraid, and she is, a little bit. But she’s also fucking excited.

Sam and Dean exit the car. Dean starts walking toward a small barber shop, and Sam motions Sol to follow. This  _ isn’t _ the time for a haircut, but then again, this isn’t her decision. Maybe he just needs a trim. The blue sign happily proclaims “Eric’s Barber Shop”, golden scissors proudly cutting the letter E in half. They walk in, a bell dinging above their heads. Looks like a very normal, regular barber shop. Except it’s… Empty. Sol stomach grumbles. “Shouldn’t we get some food and water  _ first _ ?” she suggests quietly.

“Later,” Dean agrees. “This is way more urgent.”

“And  _ this  _ is your definition of urgent?” This guy is unbelievable. Sol has a hard time believing he’s a monster hunter. But before she can protest, a heavily tattooed, balding old guy walks from the backroom. He’s got a white tank top and old jeans. And he looks pissed, like someone woke him up from his eternal nap. He eyes the brothers up and down, then barks in a raspy voice: “get out!”

“Eric!” Dean says with forced happiness. “How’s the shop man?”

“I said get out!” Eric barks again. “You’re not bringing your shenanigans in here again boys!”

“Eric we need your he-” Sam tries to speak, but this Eric dude is  _ not _ having it.

“Get. The hell. Out!” he booms. His face is red, like he’s about to explode. Sol has lost her interest, she turns to Dean with a bored expression. “Listen, I have no idea what’s going on, but you’ve clearly got the wrong priorities. Get your bangs another day. If Angry Egg Head here doesn’t wanna talk, so be it. Let’s get out of here and figure the rest of our shit out.”

The three men stand in silence. Sam looks slightly amused, while Dean and Angry Egg Head look like they’re in a vein popping contest. Eric breaks first; he bursts into laughter, slapping his knees and wheezing. “Who’s the girlfriend?” he asks Dean with tears in his eyes.

“No no no, fuck no,” Dean says with disproportional panic. “She’s- it’s complicated. She needs a tat.”

_ A tat? _

Eric stops laughing. “I told you not to bring your shit in here again. Last time you were here-”

“We didn’t have a choice, it’s an emergency,” Sam pleads, cutting Eric off. “ _ And _ we’ll pay what we owe you for last time, double.” Dean shoots a  _ what the fuck _ look at Sam, but Eric is satisfied with the answer. 

“Fine. Shit. Can’t catch a fucking break...” He motions them all to the backroom, as he locks the front door and closes the blinds. When they walk in the room, Sol feels excitement brewing in her gut. Instead of a supply closet or an office, there’s a small tattoo parlor in the back. The walls are covered with drawings of strange symbols, skulls, snakes and monsters. Sol has always wanted to get a tattoo, but within the Shadow Group it was not advised. You wouldn’t want to be recognized by your tattoo.

“So. Whatchu getting?” Eric asks her with a sly smile. Sol immediately points at a beautiful, intricate drawing of a skull with snakes coming out of its eyes. “That.”

“Yeah no,” Dean swiftly intervenes. “She’s getting the usual.”

“I think I should have a say.”

“Nope. You’re getting an anti-possession tattoo.”

“A what?”

“Listen ladies, I don’t have all day, just sit in the damn chair.” Eric puts on gloves and goes to prepare his machine. Sol sits in the damn chair, and Sam and Dean find a small wooden bench to sit on. “Are you at least going to tell me what I’m getting?” Sol spits at Dean, who crosses his arms across his chest.

“It’s for protection,” Sam says. “Against demons. It blocks them from possessing you or locating you as easily.”

“A  _ drawing _ is going to protect me?”

“Ey!” Eric yells. “It’s not a  _ drawing. _ It’s a symbol. And in  _ our _ world, symbols have power. Each symbol has its thing. Where do you want it?” He’s holding the tattoo template. It looks… Okay. Not Sol’s first choice, but it isn’t the worst design she’s seen. A pentagram with a circle of flames around it. She looks at the brothers. “You’ve gotten this tattoo as well?” she asks.

As if waiting for a cue, both men pull the collar of their shirt aside, revealing the tattoo located under their left collar bone. It doesn’t look half bad. Kind of cool. Why not. “I think I’ll do my left shoulder blade,” Sol tells the relieved Eric. He sits down on a small wheeled stool, as Sol leans forward on an armrest, removing her shirt. Sam and Dean turn their heads away respectfully as Eric begins working. The needle pricking her skin isn’t pleasant, but she now understands why some say tattoos are addictive. There’s a thrill about it. Plus, this gives her extra time to ask questions, with no one being able to avoid her.

“So what kind of trouble did they get you in?” she asks Eric.

“Do  _ not _ answer that,” Dean says, but Eric chuckles under his breath. “These boys are like danger magnets. Wherever they go, trouble follows. But,” he adds with a calm tone, “they do a lot of good. Guessing that’s why you’re here?”

“I have no idea,” Sol admits. 

Eric looks puzzled, but doesn’t press her further. “So Sam, you catch that golem then? From last month?”

“Yep.” Sam stretches in his seat. “It punched Dean in the face.” 

Eric laughs, lifting the needle from Sol’s back. “Serves you right for letting it smash my shop. If you answered my damn call a day early-”

“We were on its tail, Eric, come on,” Dean protests. “Couldn’t guess it’d come back here.”

“Yeah yeah yeah, bullshit. So what, she’s a student of yours?” he nods at Sol.

“It’s complicated, Eric.”

“You boys never tell me anything when it’s going on. I only hear about shit when you burst in here all bloody, or when someone dies.”

“So you’re Jett 2.0?” Sol asks.

“Sort of,” Sam admits. “Eric helps us out a lot. He was a hunter.”

“Still am, in here…” Eric points to his heart. “Now they come in here to either translate shit they don’t know.” He scoffs. “Or get someone tattooed.”

“How often does  _ that _ happen?”

“Never,” Eric says with a smile. He really does appreciate them. The rest of the session passes in tranquil silence. Sol almost falls asleep once or twice. When Eric is done, he wipes her back with some special soap, and wraps it up with nylon. Sol takes a long look at her tattoo in the mirror. She looks badass, surprisingly. Having a tattoo feels almost too natural, like it was always there. 

“Put this on it twice a day for a few days,” Eric gives her a small jar with yellow discolored ointment. “And wash it every day, twice. It should heal up pretty quick. Next time I give you a call,” he turns to Dean, “you better fucking answer, on the spot. Or the next time you’re in here, I’ll be the one punching you in the face.”

“I love you too.” Dean hands him a wad of cash. “Let’s go Sammy.”

“Nice meeting you, mystery girl.” Eric shakes her hand. “Keep an eye on them, you seem to have your head on your shoulders.” Sol smiles and nods.

“Thank you,” she says. “See you around, Egg Head.”

“Ha ha.” He smirks appreciatively. “Get the fuck out.”

Sol follows the boys outside the shop. Eric slams the door behind them, locking it loudly as if to say: “and don’t come back!”

“Lovely fellow,” Sol says. “Where’d you guys meet him?”

“He’s an old friend of our dad,” Sam replies.

“Let’s get something to eat,” Dean says suddenly, his eyes light up. “I’m starving. Then we’ll go to the cabin, and summon the demon that got us into this mess. And he better have an explanation.”

“The cabin?” Sol wonders.

“It’s home, sort of.” Sam shrugs. “We go there when we can, to rest, regroup… Stuff like that.”

“Right…” Sol has never really had a place like that. A place that’s just hers. She can only hope it’s got wifi and hot water. That would be nice. She should get some clothes, though, on the way. 

They take a short walk and reach a small diner simply titled “Wayne Diner”. They walk in and sit at one of the tables next to a window, immediately ordering what their heart desires. Dean gets a burger with fries, Sam picks a salmon fillet, and Sol decides on a chicken breast salad and a strawberry milkshake. They’re all so hungry they forget to talk, and simply devour their food. Sol’s food disappears in a few minutes, and Dean too inhales his meal. Sam is the only one taking his time. Sol sits back, putting both her hands on her stomach. Dean orders them all cold beers.

“Where do you get the money for all this?” Sol whispers. “Do you get paid for kicking monster ass?”

“Nah,” Dean shakes his head. “We’ve got some cool friends. We have this super-duper-limitless credit card.”

“Woah.” Now  _ that’s _ cool. “Show me.” Dean pulls out the card and shows it with pride. It must be nice not scurrying for cash. Having a safety net always helps. “When are we gonna get the demon?”

“After I get some pie,” Dean says determinedly, and goes to the counter to order himself one. Sam smiles and shakes his head, indicating that this is usual behavior.

“You both busting my ass for being  _ near demons _ , while you guys meddle with them too, apparently.” Sol shakes her head. “Can you even trust what a demon says?” Sol asks Sam. “They’re all liars and crooks, aren’t they? Why deal with them in the first place?”

“Well...” Sam tries to find his words. “They’re just businessmen. If you’ve got something to buy, they’ve got something to sell, and vice versa. Dean and I handle demons on a weekly basis. This shouldn’t be any different, and it’s not the first time we’ve been duped.” Sol believes him. Well,  _ kinda _ . 

Dean returns with three huge pieces of pie, and by the look on his face, they’re not for sharing. Sam pays the bill, using their super-card, and then they just wait for Dean to finish his pile of pie. Sol looks outside the window. She’s supposed to feel out of place, like she felt yesterday. But… No. The more she’s sucked into these events, the more she’s finding herself focused. It’s a refreshing sensation.

Sam’s voice interrupts her thoughts. “Dean, look at this.” He shows him his phone. Dean stops mid-chew, eyes darting across the phone screen. He swallows the rest of his pie and wipes his hands on his shirt. “Let’s go.”

“What?” Sol looks at them, “where are we going?”

“A case,” Sam says. “We’ve got some work to do.”


	7. You Really Got Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sol joins Sam and Dean on a case - her first case with the boys! Three men have turned up dead, their throats ripped and their eyes gouged out. Who's the culprit?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the most intricate plot I've ever concocted. And this is just the beginning. I've edited this chapter a few times, and might edit again a few times more before moving on to the next chapter. There will be more chapters like this in the future, hopefully they will be constructed better. I just needed to give it a try, it's all a learning experience for me. Hopefully, it's going to be as interesting to read as it was to write. Enjoy the chapter!

When Sol prepares for a job, she does what’s necessary to ensure her own safety. And what’s necessary to perform her task seamlessly. She researches the area, she looks up addresses, escape routes, names, awesome restaurants or food joints. Because a job well done, is one where if  _ all _ things go wrong at the same time, she still makes it out alive, and more importantly, with whatever she was sent her to pick up. But Sam and Dean’s idea for preparation had Sol unprepared. 

They sat for  _ hours _ in the car, Sam hunched over his laptop like a goblin, murmuring details, putting notes in his phone or asking Dean questions like “do we need more salt?”, “when was the last time we’ve been in this area?” and “can you start helping?”. If Dean hadn’t been driving he’d probably be sleeping, Sol is sure, because this. Is. Boring. Sol has never seen someone become this anal about the smaller details of a job. Sam wanted to know everything about this “case”. Not just addresses and surroundings. The brothers were more interested in the people involved; what happened, who they are, family relations and the history of the town. It felt more like history class than a job.

Sol begins realizing that perhaps hunting is more about the hunt itself. It’s not about the kill. The details are not very interesting in her eyes, but it feels like the brothers (well, Sam at least) consider them important. They are driving to Lawson, Missouri. The drive is long, but at least not as long as the last one. The details of the case are as follows: three men, all law abiding citizens, found dead in their homes; their throats ripped open and their eyes gouged out. The men had  _ nothing _ in common. All different backgrounds, different jobs and different hobbies. Father Lloyd; a priest of a local church, a family man. Ronny Mack; a young business man who lived with his girlfriend. And finally, Terry Lewis; a thirty six year old gamer that lived in his mother’s basement, a fact which Dean finds incredibly hilarious.

“What dude still lives in his mother’s basement at thirty six?” he chortles. “It’s just wrong.”

“He was a self proclaimed gaming expert,” Sam explains, squinting at the computer screen. “Says here he won three… World of Warriors championships? It’s an online game or something.”

“It’s not  _ an online game or something _ ,” Sol says with a frown. “It’s  _ the _ best open world online game in the history of online games.” Sam turns to look at her with confusion, and Dean whispers an “oh, my god” under his breath. “What?” Sol protests. “It was a phase.”

“Anyway,” Sam changes the subject. “We’re going to the houses to interview the families, see if anyone saw anything strange.”

“So I’m guessing you two don’t think this is a serial killer.”

“We’ve got a fifth sense for weird,” Dean says proudly.

“It’s sixth sense, genius,” Sol says. Dean becomes quiet and appears to be counting the senses in his mind. “What monster do you think this is?” she asks Sam.

“Well, the throats ripped out could indicate this is a vampire gone wild.” Sam tries to think. “But the eyes… I don’t think we’ve seen that.” He types a little on the keyboard. “Only thing I can find that does that is an… Aitvara.”

“What’s that?” Sol scoots to watch the screen.

“A spirit, common in Lithuanian folklore. It takes the form of a bird, lodges itself in a house and refuses to leave. In a tale from the twelfth century, if you angered it, it would peck your eyes out at night.”

“Awesome,” Dean mumbles. “But doesn’t explain the throats.”

“So we’re going to catch it, and kill it?”

“No.” Dean shoots her a look. “Me and Sam are going to catch it and kill it.  _ You _ are staying at whatever motel we find, and stay there until we’re done.”

“Why?” Sol whines. “I don’t wanna!”

“I don’t care.”

“So what exactly do you plan to do in the long run? Because from where I’m sitting, this hell’s ascension problem isn’t going away tomorrow, or even next week.”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re gonna sit tight somewhere we can keep an eye on you, while me and Sammy take care of this.”

“That’s cute, but no.”

“This is not a negotiation.”

“I’m sorry, you’re right. This is not a negotiation. But let me give you some heads up; I’m used to people thinking they can make decisions concerning my life. And I’m pretty good at finding a way to screw with them somehow.”

“You haven’t met us yet, kiddo.”

“Kiddo? I’m fucking twenty seven, pal. So what, twenty years older than you, mentally?”

“Hey!”

“Guys!” Sam yells.

“No!” Sol shouts louder. “I’m not sitting in a motel, I’m not waiting outside, I’m not being stashed wherever until  _ other people _ figure this out. I’m not doing this anymore. My life, my rules. You decided to take me with you? Fine. Hadn’t said a word about it. I didn’t run- and I could have! But if I’m here to stop demons from taking over the world with you, then I’m also here for whatever stupid job you’re doing meanwhile. I’m done with being treated like I’m invisible.” Sol finishes her speech and leans back in her seat, crossing her arms across her chest. She hopes her expression says “I’m a badass” and not “I’m a disgruntled baby”.

Dean is visibly trying not to explode. His shoulders are tense, and his knuckles are whitening from gripping the wheel too tightly. Sam sighs, and he and his brother share what can only be a telepathic conversation. No words are exchanged, but Dean takes a deep breath and says: “okay.”

“Yes!” Sol squeals.

“ _ Wait _ !” Dean says firmly. “Okay- but. I have my eye on you the whole time. Because, and don’t take this personally, I don’t trust you. I’m not gonna pretend I trust you.”

“Last time I checked, I’m not a demon.”

“You’ve been hanging around them long enough though,” Dean says quietly. “And you have vampire friends, demons are chasing you around, and you find yourself entangled with Crowley. Who apparently has a secret plan called hell’s ascension? Excuse me for not giving you a high five.”

“But none of that is my fault!” Sol pleads. “I told you! I didn’t  _ know _ they were demons. I didn’t know any of this existed. And I have  _ no idea _ what Crowley’s deal is. I only met him once, for like maybe twelve minutes.”

“I get it,” Dean admits. “But this is either a  _ very _ unlucky streak for you... Or you’re lying.”

“I bet you think everyone’s lying don’t you.”

Sam stifles a laugh, confirming Sol’s agenda. But she still feels a little guilty for going off. This must be shitty for them too. Just like her life is spinning out of its course, so is theirs. “But you’re right though.” Sol sighs. “I guess… Mistrusting everyone is the right way to go. To stay alive.”

Dean stays silent for the rest of the drive, while Sam and Sol go over the rest of the details. They have to visit the three homes where the bodies were found, and speak with the families. And they have to visit the local morgue. Sam suggests they split up, but Dean is uneasy with the idea, and so they decide to go together. They vote on checking into a motel one town over, at Kearney, and get some rest.

“Talking to people is always better after a good night’s sleep,” Sam says confidently. When they reach Kearney they pick a cheap motel at random. As Sol makes her way to the room, Dean puts a hand on her shoulder. 

“Hey,” he says in a low tone, “you better be here in the morning. Sam and I are pretty good at hunting.”

Sol smiles. “I know. Good night.” 

It’s nice to have some time for herself. She is so used to being alone, that being around people for this many days in a row is a little tiring. However, it’s pretty exciting to think that tomorrow is going to be different than today. Every day from now on is going to be different than the one before. Extremely different. Unrecognizable. And she’s going to do a job she isn’t used to doing. She isn’t going to wait outside the door for other people to sort it out. She’s the sorter now. It fills her with a strange sensation of pride. Sol falls asleep with a fleeting smile at her lips.

When she opens her eyes, it’s still nighttime. Is she awake? Or is this another dream? She can’t move, or speak. Everything feels heavy, and the room’s dark atmosphere is… Thick. She knows someone is watching her. Where? A shadow crawls on the ceiling right above the bed, and it’s liquid, like a river of black ink. It hangs right above her head. Sol tries to yell something offensive at it, but nothing happens. Her voice is gone. The dark liquid drips from the ceiling toward her, spiraling and twirling in front of her face, a faint, a high-pitched scream emitting from it. A distorted whisper in her ear.

“Sol.”

A distant thud shakes the room. She can’t move.

“Sol.”

Another thud. She can’t breathe.

“Sol...”

A red glow emits from the twisting liquid. It’s so weak she almost misses it. The liquid turns into the shape of a hand. It creeps toward her, the fingers contorting closer to her throat. Another boom shakes the room.

“I can see you.”

Sol falls out of bed with a screech. But the next time she blinks… Nothing is there. The morning sun is filling the room with gentle, cold light. Someone is banging on the door.

“Sol! Wake up already! We need to move! You better be fucking in there!” Dean’s voice hollers.

“Relax asshole! I’m up and completely unfucking!” she shouts back hoarsely. She’s usually not this witty in the mornings. But bad sleep can do this to anyone. These dreams, nightmares, are very unnecessary. Sol looks up at the ceiling above her bed; nothing. She quickly stumbles into the shower, and takes a good look in the mirror. Normal. Everything is fine. Her tattoo is a little inflamed, but some soap and the ointment will sort that out. She scratches her nape, and there’s nothing there too. Better forget about this, for now. 

After the shower, she is yet again reminded of her lack of clean clothes. She has to take care of this soon or people are going to assume she’s a hobo. Well… Maybe she is  _ slightly _ hobo-ish, currently. Sol goes to the parking lot, where the Winchesters are already waiting, wearing refined suits. They look like agents from an action movie. Sam is holding a small paper bag, and Dean already has a doughnut in his face. Sol manages to march up to them without sniggering giddily.

“Breakfast?” she asks. Sam nods and hands her the bag. Just a simple sandwich, but it's better than nothing. They all get into the car and begin driving to location number one; Terry Lewis’s house.

“Gamer guy’s place is first?” Sol asks.

“Eyup.” Dean nods. “I bet you fifty bucks there’s gonna be at least three cats there.”

“Two,” Sam says.

“I say ten,” Sol joins. 

Dean chuckles. “You’re on.”

“So wait, you just waltz in there with your fancy suits?” Sol wonders. “And they answer your questions and give you all the information you need?”

“Actually…” Sam shows her his badge. Sol’s jaw drops. It looks so freaking real.

“So you’re gonna be pretend-FBI? That’s so cool!”

“ _ We _ are gonna be pretend-FBI.” Dean throws a small badge holder at her. Sol looks inside, and sure enough; her very own FBI badge.

“Where the fuck did you get this picture of me?”

“Oh, it was easier than you think.” Sam laughs. “You left your license in the car. If you’re gonna hang around, you’re going to need a few fake badges here and there. We have a friend that takes care of all these details.”

Sol examines her badge. “Agent Pale?” she reads aloud. “This isn’t funny.”

“It’s accurate though,” Dean snorts.

“Well then you better get me another one that says Agent Punch because that’s what you’re about to get.”

“It’s only morning, guys. Save some for later.” Sam cracks his neck. “We’re here.”

Dean stops the car near a neat looking suburban house. “Follow our lead,” he tells Sol. They walk up to the house, and Sol begins feeling slightly queasy. Maybe it’s silly, being stressed after everything she’s been through lately. Sam rings the doorbell, and soon enough a cute older lady opens the door.

“Hello…?” she half-greets. “How can I help you?”

“Hello Mrs. Lewis,” Sam answers in a soft tone. He shows her his badge, Dean and Sol follow suit. “I’m Agent Walker, and these are Agent Rebel and Agent Pale. She’s a trainee,” he adds quickly, as the woman looks Sol up and down, no doubt judging her wardrobe choices. “We’re looking into your son’s death. I’m so very sorry.”

The woman lights up. “Oh of course… Yes.” She moves aside to let them through. “Please, come in.” They walk into the living room, where Mrs. Lewis seats them down to have a cup of tea. She sits on the opposite couch, nearly disappearing in between huge pillows. “I can’t tell you how thankful I am that you’re here, it was truly gruesome…” She sniffs. “Finding Terry likes this…” 

Sam and Dean look at each other. “Did you see what attacked him?” Sam asks.

“Oh no… I wasn’t home. I went to get some groceries, Terry was in his room. When I came back the front door was open and…” Her voice breaks and she sniffs again, tears well up in her eyes. “Terry was such a good boy…”

“Did you notice anything out of the ordinary, Mrs. Lewis?” Sam asks delicately. “Any strange sounds? Smells? Anyone around your house?”

“No… But the cats were uneasy this week, now that you mention it.” Dean and Sol suppress their smiles, but no one is a winner yet. “They’ve been hissing about. They probably smelled something. Maybe they smelled the animal that attacked my Terry!”

“May we take a look in Terry’s room? Just to be safe?”

“Of course, anything you need!” Mrs. Lewis smiles faintly. “It’s downstairs.”

Dean and Sol go downstairs, while Sam stays behind to keep Mrs. Lewis company. As Dean opens the door, an unbearable stench releases into the hallway.

“Oh lord.” Sol tries holding in her breath. Dean flips on the lights, to reveal what can only be the grossest man cave Sol has ever seen. The room is filled with empty soda bottles, candy wrappers and trash. The desk with the computer is drowning under heaps of trash as well.

“Yeah this is a gamer’s room alright,” Sol confirms. 

Dean gags a little as he kicks a bottle containing dark orange fluid on the floor. “This can’t be stale lemonade,” he says. “How are we supposed to find anything here?”

“Well that depends. What are we looking for?”

“Anything,” Dean says. “Anything that’s weird.”

A loud meow catches their attention. A black cat is sitting on the bed, flicking its tail left and right. Another spotted brown-white cat joins it from under the bed. “One more and I’m fifty bucks richer,” Dean chuckles proudly. There’s another obscure meowing coming from a closet. Sol opens it, and nearly has a heart attack when a ginger cat leaps out of it with a loud mew, running to its buddies on the bed. Dean laughs.

“Not a cat person?”

“Nope.” Sol laughs too. “But the lady was right. What’s up with them?” The three cats are sitting on the bed, alert. The ginger one hisses at Sol and Dean aggressively.

“No idea. Anything in the closet?”

Sol hasn’t a clue what she’s looking for.  _ Anything out of the ordinary _ . So basically, like the weirdly-weird she’s used to, only in physical evidence form? The closet is filled with dirty, smelly laundry crumpled in a pile on the floor. Sol has an idea. This can’t work… Can it? She tries to peel the layers of reality away, to reveal what’s underneath. Nothing happens. The cats begin meowing and hissing again, Sol spins around and notices they’re all looking at her, fur standing on end. She hisses back at them, and they quiet down.

“Okay then...” Dean tilts his head.. “Anything?”

“Nope.”

He wades through the trash to reach the desk, and turns the computer on. “Well, there’s loads of games here…” He starts listing them, but Sol isn’t listening. The cats are  _ still _ fucking looking at her. It’s so creepy. Did they sense that she was… Doing the thing? Can they sense weird things too?

“Dean,” Sol stops his flow. “The cats. Mrs. Lewis said they’ve been hissing all week.”

Dean blinks. “So?”

“Well, maybe they know what’s up.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “I don’t think you speak cat.”

“No shit, but look at them. They’re all stuck to that bed. What’s up with that?”

Dean moves toward the bed, and the cats hiss and meow at him. “Fuck!” he jumps backward, knocking a few empty energy-drink cans off the desk. “Fucking cats…”

Sol picks up an empty bottle from the floor, and hurls it at the cats. They scream and scatter, running up the stairs. She looks at Dean and shrugs. “They had it coming.” 

They approach the bed cautiously, mostly because it is probably as disgusting as the rest of the room. Dean takes out a small device out of his jacket. It’s like a hybrid of a Walkman and a supermarket scanner. He waves it above the bed, and the device lights up and starts making static noises and beeps. “Huh. Cats were right. Something was definitely here.”

“What is that?” Sol points at the device.

“It’s an EMF.”

“What does it do?”

“It tells me if there was a ghost here.”

Sol’s eyebrows nearly fly off her forehead. “Ghosts?”

Dean smiles. “Man, you’re really new to this. Yeah. Ghosts. Basically, they’re what happens to a human’s spirit, if the spirit becomes an asshole.”

Sol is pleased with this explanation. “So now we need to find the ghost and kill it? It’s just like-”

“Don’t say it,” Dean barks. “Don’t even think it.”

They walk back upstairs, where Sam is still drinking the tea. As soon as he sees them, he gets up. “We’ve got a ghost, probably,” Dean whispers to Sam. “EMF going crazy in Terry’s room.”

“So we need to find out who’s pissed at Terry, and why.” Sam tries to think.

“You think the ghost hates Terry?” Sol asks. “Like, specifically?”

“Ghosts are usually angry at someone for wronging them in some way. They’re vengeful spirits,” Sam explains. It’s pretty similar to what Dean said, only fancier. “We need to find out if someone Terry knew has died lately.”

Dean approaches Mrs. Lewis. “Mam, did Terry have any enemies?”

“Gosh! Of course not!” Mrs. Lewis says. “He was friendly… Just a bit lost. He was usually only arguing with the cats!” She giggles sadly. “Always shooing them out of the room.”

“Has anyone close to him died lately? Anyone in the neighborhood?” Dean presses. Mrs. Lewis thinks a little, then shakes her head.

“Not at all. Not anyone close to him. I heard of Father Lloyd and Ronny Mack. Awful. Just- awful. And the animal took Perrywinkles too!”

Dean tries to remain serious. “Excuse me?”

“Yes!” Mrs. Lewis nods fervently. “It took Perrywinkles! My favorite kitty…”

“We’ll definitely look into that, Mrs. Lewis,” Sam ensures her, motioning Dean and Sol to wrap it up for now. “We’ll update you if we have any new information. Thank you for your time.” Sam, Dean and Sol leave the house, leaving the sniveling Mrs. Lewis to regroup.

“Well, that’s one weird job you guys have,” Sol exclaims. “It’s like a mix between private investigators, and-”

“Don’t!” Dean shoots. “Just, don’t. Anyway, a ghost that rips out throats, gouges eyes out and steals cats?”

“Yeah, this is weird… And we still have two more visits.” Sam gives Dean a questioning look. “I think we should split. Cover more tasks quicker. Me and Sol can go visit Ronny Mack’s girlfriend-”

“No,” Dean says immediately. “Bad idea.”

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” Sol says bitterly. “I’ve been nothing but helpful.”

“Yeah, thanks for pointing out the obvious; there are cats on the bed. Let me go get you a medal.”

“At least I’m not the one that nearly cried because a cat made an angry noise.”

“Well-”

“Guys!” Sam looks so tired of this shit. “Dean, we don’t have time for this.”

“Shit, fine. I’ll take Sol with me to Mack’s chick. I don’t feel like going to church anyway.”

“Great.” Sam sighs with relief. “I’ll go visit the Llyod family. Meet you guys back at the motel?”

“Yeah yeah. Let’s move it.” Dean starts walking to the car.

“What about Sam?”

“He likes walking. He’ll be fine. Let’s just get this over with.”

The Mack residence is not far away, and the details of the case there are similar. Nothing out of the ordinary, the girlfriend, Amanda, was not home when the incident happened. Dean’s EMF goes crazy in the bedroom, near the bed, but not near anything else in the house. 

Ronny’s girlfriend looks sad  _ and _ weirded out by their presence. “I don’t get it, what does the FBI have to do with this? It’s clearly some rabid animal!”

“I’m sorry, we can’t give more details,” Dean says.

“You know, I’ve been calling the police about the damn noises in the night; I bet the cats scared it off a couple of times.”

“Wait.” Sol takes the lead. “What cats?”

“Oh the neighborhood’s full of cats. Everybody here owns a cat. Me and Ronny had a cat. Coco. But he’s gone…” Amanda shakes her head. “He must be so scared… That animal probably chased him away! There are always noises and cat fights around. But we never had an attack like this.”

“Was Coco… Angry, lately?” Sol pries.

“Yeah! You bet he was! Must have caught the scent of something. If the damn authorities did anything beforehand… None of this would have happened...”

“That’s why we’re here,” Sol reassures her.

“Now I’m glad I even had the cat!” Amanda continues. “Ronny never liked him.”

“Wasn’t a cat person?” Dean asks.

“Not at all,” Amanda laughs a little. “But if it weren’t for Coco, maybe I wouldn’t even be here.”

Dean and Sol thank Amanda, and head back to the motel. Sam has apparently managed not only to pay the Lloyds a visit, but also to go to the morgue and take a look at the bodies. They all share a small lunch and some information, and there are three clear things: all authorities and people involved believe this is a rabid animal attack, all cats in the area have been acting strange and all victims owned cats that disappeared.

“It’s so weird,” Dean says with his mouth full of onion rings. “I’ve never seen a town this obsessed with cats. I mean, it’s not even one or two. They’re everywhere.”

“Yeah, the Lloyd family had six!” Sam says in disbelief. “Well, now five. One disappeared. And they said almost every household here owns cats.”

“So we agree that the cats have something to do with this?” Sol asks. “Maybe it’s a monster that likes eating cats?”

“I don’t think so, I mean… Why these cats? Specifically? Why not get more? And what about the people?” Sam tries to think. “And the EMF’s going crazy in all of the victims houses… Everything points to a ghost. But we’ve never met a ghost that takes cats.”

“Maybe it’s a ghost  _ and _ something else?” Dean suggests, taking a handful of Sam’s potato chips.

“The bodies didn’t look unusual either. I mean; throats ripped out, eyes gouged in. Just like the reports said.”

They all sit back in silence. Sam knits his eyebrows. “I still don’t get it.” He looks at Dean. “I searched online. There are no weird or wrongful deaths in the town’s history. Nothing. Whatever is haunting this place… I can’t find anything that points to anyone.”

“Maybe we’re looking in the wrong place,” Sol suddenly says. 

Dean shoots her an angry glance. “Sam and I know what we’re doing.”

“Relax,” Sol says dismissively. “It’s just, you guys are right. The cat thing is weird. So… What if the ghost is cat related?”

Sam and Dean are now both staring at her with dumbfounded expressions. “I mean- you know,” Sol struggles, “never mind. I’m talking bullshit aren’t I.”

“No, maybe… Maybe you’re right!” Sam jumps to his laptop and opens it swiftly, typing and clicking frantically. “What if we  _ are  _ searching for the wrong thing?”

“What, you think the cats did it?” Dean laughs.

“Look!” Sam spins the laptop so both Dean and Sol can see. An article titled “The Holy Cats of Lawson”. “Apparently, Lawson has a long history with cats,” Sam explains excitedly. “Before it was founded, there was a witch clan that resided here, and they had cats. Lots of cats. There were so many cats the area was considered cursed. People believed that during the nights, spirits of cats roam the area causing mischief.”

“Wait wait wait.” Dean is flabbergasted. “Cat spirits? As in ghost cats?”

“Maybe!” Sam nods. “What if that’s what we’re dealing with?”

“But, I mean, why now? Why start killing people now? And what about the cats that disappeared?”

“Well, witches used to burn the bodies of cats… So no remains. So maybe the spirits got attached to other cats, and that’s why there are cats disappearing? And for some reason the spirits are… Angry?”

“They’re angry at cat haters!” Sol jumps to her feet too. “Amanda said her boyfriend didn’t like cats, Mrs. Lewis said Terry used to shoo them. What about the Lloyds?”

“Well, the wife said Father Lloyd believed that cats are evil. He was trying to convince her to give them away…” Sam and Sol look at Dean.

“Holy crap…,” he murmurs. “Well, I guess we need to hunt us some cat ghosts.”

“What we need a plan,” Sol says hurriedly. “And thankfully, I’m good with those. Easy peasy.”

The plan is simple. All attacks happened during the daytime, when the victims were alone in their rooms. So the only logical solution, Sol suggests, is to go to one of the houses when nobody’s home, and kick a cat.

“Kick a cat?” Dean says in disbelief.

“Yeah, just a little kick to piss it off. Maybe it will trigger the spirit to do some evil?”

“I’m not sure it works like that.” Dean looks at Sam. Sam shrugs. “I don’t know Dean, we’ve never had cat ghosts. Maybe it’s worth a try.”

“Dude. Kick a cat? That’s the genius plan?”

“If it doesn’t work we’ll let you lead the way Captain Wisdom,” Sol shoots back.

He sighs. “Fine. Deal.”

“Deal.”

“Yeah, deal.”

“That’s what I said, assface.”

Sam clears his throat boldly. “Okay then. Tomorrow I’m going to invite Mrs. Lewis to a meeting near a local cafe to discuss more details or something. You two go to the house and kick a cat.”

Dean and Sol nod, not before having another small angry stare contest. Sol goes back to her room, leaving the brothers to argue about whether this plan is the stupidest plan they’ve ever followed. The night’s sleep goes without bother for a change, and they all get up early. Sam takes the car this time, as not to alert Mrs. Lewis of their arrival. Dean and Sol walk the short distance to her house.

“I feel bad for doing this,” Sol admits.

“This was  _ your _ plan!”

“I know! I know. But she’s such a nice old lady.”

“Well if these cat spirits keep this up, she might become a nice dead old lady.”

When they arrive at the house, Mrs. Lewis is not home, as expected. Dean knocks on the door once, before taking out a small lockpick. Within a second, the door opens. Sol gives him an impressed glance. “You’re fast.”

Dean smiles slyly. “Been doing this since I was ten.” They step inside, making sure to shut the door behind them. Sure enough, the cats are in. Two of them are sleeping on the couch, eyeing Sol and Dean eerily. The ginger one isn’t around.

“Alright.” Sol claps her hand together. “Now let’s pick. Who gets the boot?”

“Not the black one,” Dean says almost immediately. 

“Afraid of bad luck?” Sol chuckles. “Fine. Let’s get the spotted one.”

They wait. Dean doesn’t make a move, and neither does Sol. “Well?” Dean huffs.

“I thought you were gonna kick it?”

“Me? No no no; your plan, your job. You kick it.”

“I can’t, you saw the way it hissed at me yesterday, you do it.”

“It hissed at both of us! Besides, I’m too strong. I could accidentally hurt it.”

“You’re not  _ that _ strong.”

There’s a noise at the door. They both spin at the same time, nearly bumping into one another. The ginger cat is flying at them; claws out, a whiny screech piercing their ears. Sol jumps backwards, leaping over the couch. Dean simply falls to the floor and throws his hands over his face. Sol feels sharp claws penetrating her arms. She flails about, trying to shadow her eyes. “Dean!” she calls. But when she steals a peek she sees Dean is a little busy. The other two cats have catapulted themselves onto his back, scratching and biting.

“What is this?!” she yells.

“You must have pissed them off!”

“I didn’t! Maybe it’s the ghost!”

“Enough!” an unfamiliar voice bellows. The cats cease their attack, scurrying away. Sol rises from behind the couch slowly. Mrs. Lewis is standing in the middle of the living room, but she looks… Different. Not such a cute older lady anymore. She has this weird expression on her face, an evil one. All three cats are crouching behind her, wagging their tails and hissing. Dean is still on the floor, but he’s also noticed Mrs. Lewis.

“My my you both have made quite a mess.” Mrs. Lewis clicks her tongue. “I thought you’d be gone already. Who’d have thought I’d have hunters on my tail.”

Dean reacts fast, but not enough. He tries throwing a punch into Mrs. Lewis’s face but she extends her hand at him and calls: “Kavlehu!” Dean stops in his tracks, freezing in place. Sol feels the same energy binding her too.

“I don’t get it,” Dean grits through his teeth. “You?”

Mrs. Lewis takes a little bow. “Yes. Me.”

“You’re a witch, aren’t you,” Dean spits.

“Yes, I am. So nice of you to send the other hunter right to me. I hoped you would all just go away… But little Ginger alerted me that someone was in the house. Oh don’t worry,” she adds. “He’s fine. For now.”

“Ginger- wait.” Sol puts two and two together. “Father Lloyd… Ronny Mack… Your son! That was all you… And the cats?”

“Well not exactly,” the witch admits. “Cat spirits have always communicated with witches here. This was once a sacred place for witches and their familiars. But now all these… These… Cat haters!” Mrs. Lewis spits on the floor. “They had to be removed.”

“Your son?” Dean repeats in disbelief, but Mrs. Lewis waves her hand dismissively.

“He wanted me to stop. He wanted to move away. To leave me here, alone. I couldn’t let him do that. Never.”

“And you took the cats, didn’t you. It was all a part of a revenge spree?” Sol says.

“The cats were evidence! Couldn’t let them go about with blood on their little furs could I? They would lead folks like you right to me. I allowed the ancient cat spirits to dwell in their little precious bodies, and together we got rid of these- those-” Her face contorts in anguish. “They’re the monsters! Sitting on this land, land that belongs to witches and to the spirits.”

Sol can’t help it. She bursts into laughter, it rolls out like a horrible, horrible train of endless giggles. Dean’s eyes are screaming “what the fuck” while Mrs. Lewis’ scream “I will kill you”.

“I’m sorry-” Sol coughs another giggle out. “I’m sorry- all of this because some people don’t like cats? So you summoned cat ghosts into cats, and made them kill people with- wait, witch powers? What the actual fuck?” She turns to Dean. “Is this a regular case for you?”

“Shut up Sol!” Dean whispers. “Where is Sam?” he barks at Mrs. Lewis. “Where’s my brother?”

“Don’t worry about him. I put a little sleep spell on him. I couldn’t use my powers out in the open just like that. But here, I don’t see a reason not to.” She smiles a wicked smile. “So nice of you to drop by, but I’m afraid I can’t let you leave… I think I shall start with you.” Mrs. Lewis turns to Sol. “Perhaps my kitties could teach you some manners.” She points a wrinkly finger. “Kehu Ota!”

Sol feels like everything is in slow motion. She can see Dean’s eyes widen in anticipation and fear. The three cats jump at her, baring claws and teeth. Mrs. Lewis has this crazy elated expression spread on her face. Sol has only a split second to decide. To decide if this is worth the try. If it’s worth the risk. She closes her eyes and thinks.  _ Stop. Stop. _ She opens her eyes. The cats are in front of her, on the floor, but they’re not moving. Mrs. Lewis is confused.

“Get her already!” she screams.

Oh no you don’t. She takes a deep breath, and peels away the layers of reality in her mind. She can see the cat spirits inside the cats bodies. They’re like little balls of white light, ebbing gently. They almost seem… Scared, confused.

“How are you doing that?!” Mrs. Lewis screams. “What are you?”

Oh shit.  _ You don’t have to do this. _ Sol thinks, pleading.  _ She’s controlling you, she’s using you. _ The cat spirits wrench in anger.  _ Don’t let her do this to you. _

As if by command, the three cats whip around and lash at the surprised Mrs. Lewis. She doesn’t have the time to utter a word before the cats sink their little claws into her face; scratching at her eyes and neck. Sol shuts her eyes, but nothing blocks the witch’s screams. Sol drops to the floor, the invisible binds gone, and she lies there for a moment. And then she starts laughing again. Dean appears above her, lending her a hand to help her rise from the floor. The moment she catches his hand, he starts laughing too. They’re both kinda surprised that he’s laughing, and that makes it all the more funny. 

When the laughter dies down, they can finally take a deep, relaxing breath. Mrs. Lewis is lying in a bloody mess on the floor, eyes gouged out and throat ripped open. The three cats are looking at Sol. They seem satisfied with their work. The spotted one purrs and puts its cute, bloody face on her leg, nudging her. “Aww…” Sol pets his head lightly. “I’m sorry I wanted to kick you.”

“We need to go get Sam,” Dean says with half a smile.

“Oh he’s fine, you heard Mrs. Le- the witch. He’s asleep. Man, what luck.” She takes a look at the body. One of the cats is licking the blood off of the rug. “Gross. And weird. But mostly gross. What are we gonna do with her?”

Dean gives Sol a warning glare. “Nothing. Let’s get out of here.”

“We’re gonna leave her like  _ this _ ?”

“Oh, we were  _ never here _ .”

“Huh.” Makes sense.

They slink out the back door, leaving it open for the cats (and their spirits) to escape if they feel like it. Dean immediately gets his phone out and calls Sam. After a few rings, a relieved expression tells Sol that everything is fine. After a short conversation he says: “Sam’s on his way to the motel, woke up in the car just a few moments ago.” He exclaims. “He’ll never believe this shit.”

“Why not?”

“Honestly… I’ve seen a lot of weird, and I’ve seen a lot of dangerous. But this… This takes the weird cake.” He chuckles. “Cat spirits and a crazy cat witch lady with abandonment issues. What a day.”

Sol smiles. “So this is totally not a regular case.”

“Nope.” Dean nods.

“At least I got to meet a witch. That’s cool. Are all witches bad?”

“Nah, most of them are okay,” Dean admits. “This is the craziest one I’ve seen though. Killing her own son… Wow. By the way,” he stops walking. “What did she mean?”

“Huh?”

“You stopped the cats… And she looked surprised. What did you do?”

“I have no idea what she was talking about,” Sol lies. “Crazy witch lady probably didn’t realize the cats hated her more than they wanted to scratch my eyes out. Guess they were tired of being used.”

Dean gives her a long, stern stare, but finally sighs. “Yeah, probably.”

The walk back to the motel is calming, and gives her a little time to rethink some things. She was lucky this time; nobody found out that she’s maybe... Not normal. She needs to be way more careful. While Sam and Dean  _ seem _ trustworthy, they probably do in fact know what they’re doing, as Dean claimed. She’s got enough on her plate as it is. This isn’t the time to have no allies. 

Sol is tired, but it’s not bad tired. It’s not the tired she’s used to, after a long day of shitty deliveries, or the tired after any conversation with Paul. It’s a good tired, the “I did something today” kind of tired that people probably feel after a great day at work. She catches Dean looking at her smugly.

“What?”

“Nothing- it’s just…” He’s almost forcing the words out. “You did okay.”

“I didn’t do anything. You don’t have to pretend. I literally, did nothing.”

“Well, neither did I,” Dean admits. “But you had your thinking cap on and… You did good, alright? Take a compliment.”

When they reach the motel, the door swings open before they even knock. Sam gives Dean a short hug, before they all sit down to have a talk. By the end of the story Dean and Sam are snickering uncontrollably, and Sol is on the floor trying to re-contain her laughter.

“I can’t believe I  _ slept _ through this…” Sam runs his hands through his hair. “I don’t think we’ve had this much crazy in a long time.”

“Not since the love potion incident,” Dean agrees.

“What now? Do tell!” Sol laughs. “You must have a gazillion crazy stories like this.”

“We do.” Sam nods. “But most of them aren’t as strange. Usually our cases are more dangerous than plain odd. We either almost get killed, or save the world.” He winks apologetically. “Cases like these are rare.”

“Like what?”

“Fun,” Dean replies. “We don’t usually get fun.”

“And this is the day to day for you?” Sol wonders. “You go around the country, finding these cases?”

Sam and Dean smile simultaneously. “Saving people, hunting things,” Deans says. “The family business.” Sol smiles too. Maybe hunters aren’t bad at all. They’re just like the vampires; trying to protect others, protect their own kind. Everyone has their reasons.

“We better get some sleep,” Sam says, covering his mouth to release a yawn.

“Oh I think you’ve gotten enough sleep dude,” Dean scolds him. “We were busting our asses fighting witches and cats while you took a fucking nap.”

“Jerk.” Sam smirks.

“Bitch.” Dean smirks back.

Sol smiles too. When was the last time she’s smiled this much in one day? She can’t remember. It almost feels wrong to be happy right now.

“But- yeah. Let’s go to sleep. Tomorrow we’re definitely catching our demon.” Dean stretches with a groan. “We still need to go to the cabin, restock. And I think we all need fresh clothes. We don’t usually invite guests, so consider yourself special,” he adds.

“Does that mean you trust me?” Sol asks. Does she really want the answer?

He gives her another long look. “No.” He throws his hands in the air defensively. “But… We’ll see. You have good instincts. Might make a good hunter some day, if you stop hanging around demons and vampires.”

“Ha ha.” Does she want to become a hunter? Is it a career choice? She bids the Winchesters good night (even though technically, it’s only the afternoon), and retires to her room. Tomorrow, another day of unexpectedness awaits. Sol sits on the bed, and looks up. The nightmare she had still bugs her. These don’t feel like dreams. They feel real. She’s not clueless, and this isn’t a coincidence. These dreams have a reason, especially since they’ve started only since this whole mess has begun. But what’s the connection, other than having her invisibility revoked, and Paul’s protection lifted? Her head starts spinning; perhaps this isn’t the time to think about these things. She’s going to have plenty of time for that on the drive to the cabin, wherever that is. She gets into bed, and falls asleep immediately. Finally, sound sleep. She fucking deserves it.

Or not.

Sol opens her eyes. The room is dark. A heavy atmosphere.

She can’t move.

She can’t speak.

A liquid shadow slithers on the ceiling, it forms a hand. It reaches for her throat, then grabs it. The hand is freezing cold yet burning hot. She can’t breathe.

Her nape is stinging, as if she’s being pricked with a thousand needles. Why can’t she scream?

A glint of red flashes before her eyes. A high-pitched scream; it isn’t hers.  _ Wake up. _ The pain in the back of her neck intensifies.  _ Wake up. _ The liquid shadow squeezes her throat tighter.  _ Wake up. _ Someone is watching.

_ Wake up. _

Sol wakes up with a shriek, her whole body shaking. She gets up from the bed to run outside, but the shaking is so bad she simply falls to her hands and knees. Her throat is burning, her nape is burning, her chest is burning. She inhales sharply, and allows the painful breath to shudder through her. She tries to get up again, but it’s like all of her strength has left her body. Her fingernails scratch at the floor. All the helpless moments of her life crash into her mind uninvited. Everything she’s ever pushed down so deep she didn’t even remember those moments existed anymore. She curls up into a ball on the floor, and allows the rocking of her cries to lull her into dreamless sleep.


	8. I Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sol and the boys go the cabin. Sol discovers the Winchesters have some plans for her, and decides to escape. Bad idea...

A good night’s sleep is usually very rare in Sol’s life. Living on four to five hours of sleep isn’t very healthy. But what can she do but try. She’s never had too many dreams, or nightmares. At least not ones worth mentioning or remembering. 

Waking up after this nightmare is interesting. Well, horrible, more than interesting. Sol wakes up drenched in sweat, on the floor, the blanket twisted around one of her ankles. Her head is throbbing and she feels sick.

She forces herself to shower, not before noticing that her face is still a little puffy from all the pathetic crying, and her eyes are a little sore. This is ridiculous. She’s ridiculous. After the shower Sol marches outside, the boys yet again waiting on her.

“You look like shit,” Dean greets her.

“Thanks, you too.” Sol gets into the car and buckles herself, immediately closing her eyes. She just needs a little sleep. Normal, human sleep. There has to be a way not to have these dreams. They’re dangerous. It’s bad enough that she can do weird things with her mind, but she  _ cannot _ have the hunters witness these freaky nightmares. They might just throw her back to Crowley just to be safe.

Sam and Dean get into the car, and Dean starts driving. “Why are you the one always on the wheel?” Sol groans.

“Because this is  _ my car _ ,” Dean barks. “And Sam knows it too.”

Sam simply nods. “His car.” He shrugs.

Sol’s stomach rumbles a little. “Why do we have to get up so early?”

“Because we have a long drive, I don’t wanna drive during the night.” Dean turns on the music. “You both get some more rest. I’ll wake you guys when we’re close.” Sam puts his head on the window, drifting into sleep, and Sol too tries to nap. But it’s hard falling asleep when you’re terrified of falling asleep. She shifts back and forth, trying to find solace, but to no avail. Dean chuckles and Sol opens her eyes.

“What?”

“You’re having nightmares, aren’t you.”

Asshole. “No.”

“Well Sam and I heard you scream bloody murder last night. But Sam said when he went to check you were already back asleep.”

“Oh.” Hopefully Sam didn’t see her sobbing like a maniac. “I’m sorry.”

“We have them too.” Dean sighs heavily. “The nightmares. When you’re in this life, the life of a hunter. When you see these things, when they see you… The nightmares always come. And you deal with it.”

“You still have them? The nightmares?”

Dean shakes his head. “All the time. All the time. Sometimes I go without sleep for days on end. Sammy too. We’ve seen a lot of shit. We’ve been to hell and back, several times. I know what it can do. The monsters are out there, always have been, always will be. But you gotta keep them out of your head. As much as you can. If they don’t kill you, lack of sleep will.”

Sol nods slowly. “Easier said than done.” Should she tell him they  _ don’t _ really feel like dreams? Maybe he can help. Maybe they both will understand. But then again, Dean’s urge to kill the monster might be stronger than his sense and kindness.

“Yeah, you bet. But you’ll get used to it,” Dean says reassuringly. “You don’t have a choice.”

“I know,” Sol murmurs bitterly. “My life has lacked choices since seventeen.”

“Boohoo.” Dean laughs apologetically. “I was  _ born _ into this life. Hunter parents. None of us have choices. It’s the moment you accept this life, that you start getting the ability to choose. Choose what’s right for you, what’s right for the world. What needs to be done.”

“Sounds like some heavy responsibility.”

“It is.”

“You sound like you’re used to it, though.”

“Because I am.  _ We _ are. Sam and I have been saving this world’s ass for a long time. But we don’t do it alone. There are hunters, like us. We have friends and allies.”

“So it’s good against evil? Heaven and hell? Hunters and monsters?”

“I wish it were. It’s never that simple.”

“So how do you know?” She’s suddenly angry. “How do you know what’s right?”

“I don’t,” he replies simply.

“So you admit maybe you might be a little wrong about the vampires, then?”

“About your friends? Heck no. Vampires are vampires.”

“You’re impossible.”

Dean smiles. “Eyup. But I know I’m right. I can’t wait to see the look on your face the next time you meet them, munching on some poor guy.”

“We’ll see.” Sol rests her head on the headrest. Maybe Owen will munch on some poor guy, but not Mike. And Theresa seemed reasonable. And Joe… He looked like a vegan hipster. Shame he’s the only one that didn’t make it. Candy might still be on their tracks. Because if she can’t find Sol, she’ll find someone who  _ can _ find her. And there’s no telling where Paul is. Usually, he could track her very easily… But that was because he  _ knew _ what job she was doing, and where.

For the rest of the drive, Sol manages to drift off once in a while. But it’s a  _ long _ drive. Every few hours, they stop for a small refreshment and for fuel. Dean finally allows Sam to drive the car (though he seems anxious about it). Being on the road, on the run, is not foreign to Sol. It’s even a little relaxing. 

When they finally close in on their destination, the sun is setting. They’re driving into a deep forest, vast lakes peeking in between the tree covered mountains and hills. It’s like a land from some dark fairy tale. The late-daylight throws golden rays between the tall trees, and black rocks covered in deep green moss hide groups of red and purple flowers. The road becomes more narrow as they deepen into the woods.

“Good hiding spot,” Sol chimes.

“But not easy on the wheels,” Dean grumbles. He’s completely concentrated on driving through the wooded area as gently as possible. “But people rarely go in here. Cars especially.”

“Not only that,” Sam adds knowingly. “Most forests accumulate magic-”

“Yeah yeah yeah. Magic forests have magic energy that magically protects us.” Dean waves his hand at Sam. He stops the car in a small opening, where the road ends. “Let’s go.”

They leave the car behind and start walking on foot. The forest is breathing around them; leaves rustling in the gentle wind, branches creaking, the fallen leaves crunching under their heavy steps. They venture along an almost invisible trail until a small cabin appears between the trees. The area is so filled with vegetation that it looks like a big bush from afar.

It’s not the prettiest cabin from the outside: if Sol hadn’t learned of the existence of ghosts and ghost cats, she would have thought this place is haunted. The walls are made from harsh grey stone covered in more moss, merging with the forest colors. The roof is wooden, and the logs are chipped and peeling, claimed by climbing plants and abandoned bird nests. The windows are all dusty and sealed shut, and so is the door. Sol barely notices transparent marks and symbols on the walls and windows, but when she blinks they disappear.

“Ah…” Dean inhales deeply, spreading his arms. “Home sweet home.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me…” Sol murmurs under her breath. “It looks like an abandoned shitty shack-”

“Hey!” Dean barks. “I said home sweet home and I meant every word. Now shut up and follow me.” Dean walks angrily up to the door, removing the blockade from the door.

“We haven’t been here for some time,” Sam says apologetically. “A few months, maybe. And we gotta make sure people don’t wander in, you know.”

“Doesn’t look like your picturesque cabin in the forest,” Sol says with a smile. “I’m sure nobody would wanna vacation in this shit-hole.”

“I said can it!” Dean shouts. He hears like a damn bat. Dean opens the door with a heavy push, Sam and Sol step wearily inside as Dean flicks on the lights. Sol releases a surprised noise. The interior looks  _ nothing _ like the outside. The warm lights show a homey cabin, with a small yet clean kitchen, an office-like area with an old oak desk covered with books and papers. In the back there are two small, pleasant bedrooms, and behind the kitchen there’s what looks to be a bathroom. In the middle of the semi-living room there’s a leathery beat-up brown couch and a small coffee table with porn magazine piling on top of it.

“Nice touch,” Sol goes to pick up a magazine, but Dean snatches the pile away and hugs it to his chest.

“This is a private collection.” Without another word, Dean flies into his room and shuts the door.

Sam chuckles and shakes his head. “It’s not much, but it’s really the closest thing we have to a home. We used to have another place down in Kansas… But it got destroyed.”

“How come?”

“Long story… Short version: demons.”

“What are those symbols? On the walls outside?”

Sam looks at her with a weird expression. “They’re against… Everything, basically. Protection spells. They make sure nobody can find us here. You’re… You can see them?”

Sol’s heart drops. “I mean- no- like- yes- I mean- I thought I saw something, and then I remembered what Eric said about symbols, and my tattoo… So I thought maybe you have the same thing here.” Sol’s eyes are darting across Sam’s face, hoping to see a shred of belief. For a second Sam looks hesitant, but then he nods.

“Well, yeah, that’s about it. It’s a pretty tiny place, but Dean’s right. Really does feel like home. We… Don’t really have another bed, so you can use mine, I guess-”

“No no,” Sol shakes her head urgently. “I’ll be just fine with the couch. This is probably temporary anyways, isn’t it.”

“You sure?” Sam says hopefully.

“Yeah. Couch is fine. It’s a luxury, compared to where I’ve been sleeping the last ten years.” Sol looks around. “Honestly, it’s a great place. The inside is so different than the outside.”

“Don’t judge a book by its cover, I guess.” Sam smiles. “There isn’t any food in the fridge, so tomorrow I’ll pop to town.”

“That reminds me, where the heck are we anyways?”

“Boise. Idaho.” He laughs when she gasps. “Long drive, I know. But the forests around here are  _ huge _ , and they’re really good for hiding. Plus, the town here is pretty quiet. You can join me if you’d like, see the area.”

“Sure. I need new clothes anyways. Mine smell like shit.”

“Yeah, we probably need some too,” Sam agrees. “There’s beer in the fridge.” Sam goes to his room and shuts the door, and Sol gets a little peace and quiet.

She spends the next three hours sniffing around the cabin, opening all and any cabinets and drawers, snooping in the kitchen and bathroom, and cleaning some of the dust that accumulated on all surfaces. She also rifles through the books and papers on the desk. Some of them have drawings of monsters, others containing more weird symbols or incantations, one or two look like they’re written in an ancient language. “Weird headquarters,” Sol whispers to herself. She goes back outside, to look at the walls again. She draws out the hidden layers, her vision shifts, and the symbols begin glowing. She doesn’t recognize any of them. Sol blinks, and the symbols vanish.

The night air is cool and calming, and the sounds of the surrounding nature overtake her thoughts. Though traveling the whole country for the job, she’s rarely gotten the pleasure of enjoying the tranquility of nature. Her business was usually in cities or abandoned buildings in smaller towns. And even if she got to drive near nature, there was rarely time to walk around aimlessly. Plus, being alone, in nature, was not so safe. Somehow here feels  _ safer _ than it did before. Even though technically if someone gets eaten by a monster in the woods and no one is around to see it… Did they even exist?

Sol goes back inside, takes a short shower, puts the ointment of her tattoo and plumps down on the couch to sleep. There’s no spare blanket, so she uses one of the leather coats that hangs on the rack behind the door. Hopefully they won’t mind.

In the morning she wakes up to the fridge slamming. “Morning,” Dean barks groggily, holding a beer and his toothbrush. He sits down at the small kitchen table, brushing his teeth in between sips of beer.

“You’re fucking disgusting,” Sol says.

“My house, my rules. You’re a  _ guest _ , this is  _ temporary _ , and I could kick you out whenever.”

When he’s right, he’s right. Sam barges through the cabin door in full sports-wear, panting lightly. “Hey,” he huffs. “I’m gonna shower, then me and Sol are going to town to buy some food and clothes. You need anything?”

“Bring pie!” Dean pleads hopefully. “And beer.”

“Those are always on the list aren’t they.” Sol laughs. She takes out her phone, and her heart skips a beat. The bad skip. She’s got three messages, two from Sharknado. One from Paul. “Oh shit,” she whispers. She opens the Sharknado ones first.

_ I’m fine. No worries. _

Whew.

_ Someone is looking for you. _

Shit. She’s ought to give him a call, when the Winchesters aren’t around. She sends a short reply.  _ Good. Ttyl. Hunters. _

The Paul one is disheartening.

_ You can run all you like, Sol, but we both know that we’ll find you. _

Sol snorts. Paul was always one to make empty threats. However, that was when she believed he was a human asshole, not a demonic one. “I need a new phone number,” Sol tells Sam. “This phone is a Group phone, so-”

“ **What** ?!” Dean jumps from the table, snatches the phone from her hand, puts it on the floor and slams his heel as hard as he can into it, shattering the poor plastic creature into pieces.

“What the  **fuck** assface?!” Sol screams.

“You bring Group shit into a hunters cabin?! Are you fucking insane? They could be tracking you!”

Woops. She hadn’t thought of that. But it’s too late, she’s too deep into this argument already. And she’s quick on the draw. “Well if they  _ knew _ where I was they would have already been here you moron! I had important numbers on that phone!”

“Guys!” Sam gets involved. “We’ll get you a new phone. Dean is right, this is too dangerous. I’m hitting the shower, and we’ll go.” Sam makes haste for the showers before either Dean or Sol utter a word. 

As soon as he closes the door behind him, Sol attacks. “Just so we’re on the same fucking page,” she hisses at Dean, “if you ever break any of my shit again, I’ll break your nose.”

“Just so  _ I’m _ fucking clear,” Dean growls back, “if you ever endanger me or Sam again, I’ll make the call to Crowley myself.”

That shuts Sol right up. She still wants to have the last word, so she strides up to the fridge, takes the last beer, and marches out the cabin. A short stroll around the area is sure to quiet her anger. The forest is even more beautiful by day than it is by dusk. The air is warm and swarming with bugs and butterflies. There’s the gentle bubbling of a stream somewhere, and the wooded hills seem to go on endlessly. From time to time Sol sees more symbols carved into trees, and these ones don’t even require her sixth sense. By the time she makes it back to the cabin, she realizes the brothers are right. She  _ is _ stupid. Perhaps that phone is what allowed Candy to find her in the first place? Somehow? She’ll have to get Sharknado’s number again somehow though. 

She decides to go back to the cabin, be a big girl and apologize. Not only is she a guest in what seems to be the safest place in the universe for her right now, but they’re saving her life. For no apparent reason other than “we’re hunters, family business”. As she closes in on the door, she can hear Sam and Dean arguing. She  _ could _ barge in. Or she could eavesdrop. Yeah. She should definitely eavesdrop.

“-a bad idea.” Dean’s voice is filled with frustration. “I find it weird that we’re  _ just _ now hearing about this thing called hell’s ascension? I mean… We haven’t been seeing many demons, for  _ months _ . Now suddenly there’s supposed to be a demonic war?”

“She didn’t say anything about a war. She said demons were after other monsters, and that Crowley said something about hell’s ascension.”

“Dude, who cares if demons kill other monsters? I mean, isn’t that a  _ good _ thing?”

“I don’t know Dean. Something isn’t right. Demons aren’t supposed to care about other monsters. They’re just supposed to care about souls and deals. We have to know what Crowley is planning.”

"I still don’t get why we had to take her. She’s dangerous man. She’s gonna bring the demons right to us. If not vampires, or anything else. If she gets us killed, I’m gonna kill you. She kept a fucking  _ demon phone _ . Sam.”

“What are we supposed to do? She’s the only thread we have to understand what’s going on. And…”

There’s an uneasy silence on the other side.

“So. You wanna use her as a bargaining chip. Just like the fucking vampires. This isn’t about saving lives.”

“Do we have a choice, Dean?”

“Yeah! If there’s trouble with demons, with Crowley, we can handle it without having a liability. We bring Crowley to us, we trap his ass, we take him down once and for all.”

“If Crowley wants her for his plans, then we can’t let him have her. Knowing Crowley, he’s  _ waiting for us _ to make a call or try and summon him. He’s always slipped through our fingers, he’s always escaped, and he’s always tricked us somehow. How is this any different? And we still need to figure out  _ why _ he needs her. It’s weird. Crowley  _ hates _ humans. Any humans. Why is he fixated on Sol?”

“Honestly Sam, I’m not sure you want a fucking answer. Right now I’m  _ this _ close to giving her the boot, I don’t care. And I don’t feel like going on a wild goose chase after Crowley either. You’re right, he’s dangerous. That’s not the way to go. Honestly, we can just ask him. He’s a business man. We have business.”

“So what are you suggesting?”

“If we really want to know what’s up, we could easily give Crowley a call. We have what he wants, and he’s got information we need. Fair trade.”

**What the actual fuck.**

“Dean, I don’t-”

“No no, you want answers? Fucking fine. We can drive some place, we can summon Crowley, and we can get some fucking answers.”

Alrighty. That’s about  _ all _ Sol needs to hear. She swivels around and makes a run for it. She’s nearly quaking in anger. Safest place on earth. Right. That’s what she fucking gets for trusting people. The vampires were right. Hunters care about one thing, and one thing alone: killing the monster. She’s as good as a human shield. A bargaining chip.  _ I’m used to being used _ . Her run gets her to the Impala. An evil smile spreads on her lips. They fucked with her, she’ll fucking fuck with them. This will not be the first time she breaks into a car, and not the last.

Sol gets out her trusty lock-pick, pries the door open and leaps inside. It’s no problem for her to start the car, meddling with some cables. The Impala purrs impatiently. Sol backs away from the cabin slowly, carefully. She doesn’t want a busted tire right now. When the car leaves the forest path, Sol swerves toward what she hopes should be the closest town. She has  _ no _ idea what she’s going to do when she gets there. Maybe get a phone. Then steal another car, because traveling with a vintage car seems like a bad idea. No idea why the Winchesters do it. It’s too noticeable.

The further she drives away from the cabin, the more idiotic her notion of the escape becomes. She has no money, no phone, no allies, no clean clothes. Where is she supposed to go? Nowhere to go, no one to turn to. But if she stays with the Winchesters, she’s bound to find herself going to hell. Literally. At least she has her demon blade. Though she isn’t sure for how long it’s going to protect her.

Sol feels heavy as the despair washes over her. It’s pointless. She veers off of the road, stopping the car at its side. She gets out of the car and sits on the hood. And she waits, unsure what her next step is going to be. The wooded mountains loom above her head, branches swaying rhythmically as a gentle morning breeze whips through the treetops. What a beautiful day to waste on such a shitty situation. Perhaps the most certain path is just going back, telling Dean to summon Crowley, and get this over with. She inhales a ragged breath.  _ It’s so unfair. _

A distant low grumble catches her attention. She whips her head left and right. Nothing but the forest. She stays silent. Expect the unexpected. In the distance, a high pitched howl rips the air.  _ Oh lord, please not now. _ The sound of leaves and branches crunching and popping is coming closer. Someone, or something, is running toward her. She doesn’t need an invitation. In panic she forgets the car exists. She leaps off of the hood, into the forest, and starts running as fast as she can.

There are yips and barks coming from behind her, and to her far left. She veers right, trying not to trip over the roots and rocks that lay under the foliage. Stray branches catch in her hair, scratching her face, but she has no time to fuss about that. Right now there’s only one thing on her plate; surviving the next five minutes. With all her concentration, Sol draws out the hidden layers of reality. Her vision blurs momentarily, and then she sees them. Two behind her, at least one to her left. Hounds. The same terrifying-looking hounds she saw when she was in hell. Their eyes are red, their mouths watering, and they’re all trying to take a bite out of her legs. 

As they race after her, they huff a red cloud of haze with each exhale. Their claws are ripping the ground under their paws to shreds. Another howl indicates there are more coming. Sol has no idea how many she’s dealing with. She doesn’t have time to stop and do the trick she did last time. She can barely think straight.  _ Go away! _ She tries hurriedly. Nothing.

One of the dogs closes in on her. She can feel its hot breath near her ankles. With a petrifying snap, its jaws slam shut; trying to lock on her leg. “Fuck!” Sol screams, trying to rush her pace. It is not a fair fight. She’s not used to running on this terrain, and she’s definitely not used to escaping wild monsters. Humans are so much easier. 

She’s nearly out of breath. Her head starts spinning. She isn’t going to make it. One of the hounds barks, the sound vibrating through the air, sending Sol’s heart into a frenzy. She makes a sharp turn, using a tree to catapult herself in a different direction. But before she can bolt away, a hound smashes into her, shoving its entire weight onto her. Its jaws clamp onto her shoulder, powerfully pinning her to the ground. Sol screams in agony, trying to kick the mutt in the neck and chest. Its eyes bore into hers, and before she can react, it starts dragging her away. The other hounds, Sol can see at least four, follow its lead, growling and snarling.

The pain is extreme. Like a sword made of fire is piercing her shoulder. Sol tries to hit the hound, but as soon as she moves her hand, another hound bites down on her arm. Sol shrieks; she can’t escape. The hounds patiently carry her, she doesn’t know where, and she doesn’t want to. She is fucked on a whole nother level of being fucked. Her shoulder throbs, and black spots begin dancing in front of her eyes. She’s losing consciousness. Sol kicks faintly with her legs, but with every movement she’s becoming weaker. The world becomes a fuzzy mess as Sol’s heart nearly beats out of her chest. The only thing she’s capable of right now, is forcing herself to take a breath in, then push it out. In and out. Stay alive.

A bright light fills her vision. A piercing, high-pitched drone overflows her senses. She can barely hear the hounds’ muffled cries of confusion. The hounds carrying her immediately let go and she slumps to the ground. The earth shakes as the dogs scatter, trying to attack something that she can’t see. With her unbitten hand, Sol starts dragging herself away. Whatever is going on, she needs to be far, far away from it. The hounds are still trying to catch her, but every time they make a move toward her, something swats them away, scaring them. If something is able to scare these monsters, then it might be a good idea to stay out of its path.

Another bright flash, Sol shuts her eyes, still crawling away. The hounds wail in fear, she can hear them sprint away. Silence fills the forest. She’s covered in blood, and her whole body is quivering at the sheer amount of strength it takes to stay conscious. Someone is pacing closer to her. Sol rolls onto her back, pulling out her blade. She slashes at the air, but everything is filled with light. Sol makes one last feeble attempt to strike her opponent, but as she moves her arms, the last drops of energy she has wane. The air around her shifts, it’s as if she is floating. Sol collapses into unconsciousness, not before she hears a voice saying: “I found her.”


End file.
